In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows
by Riddles of the Werewolf
Summary: Harry is sentenced to Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit. But what happens when he is proven innocent years later? Easy, he wants revenge. Harry/Voldemort slash. Mentioned Hermione/Draco. Dark Harry. Manipulative Dumbledore.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Parings**: Harry/Voldemort and Hermione/Draco

**Time Setting**: Story starts right before Half-blood Prince during the summer after fifth year.

**Summary**: Harry is sentenced to Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. But what happens when he is proven innocent years later? He wants revenge. Harry/Voldemort slash. Mentioned Hermione/Draco. Dark Harry. Manipulative Dumbledore.

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**In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Prologue**

* * *

It was when he woke up that he knew something was wrong.

There were three reasons for this.

One: It was dark. Not the normal nighttime dusk that Harry was used to seeing from the times he woke up from his nightmares. It wasn't a normal kind of darkness. And even if, for some odd reason, his eyes were exaggerating the dark shadows in the scene, there would still have to be _some _form of light illuminating a least of small portion of the room. Because if he were in his room at Private drive there would be a shine coming in through his curtains from the streetlamp that sat outside his window…and there was clearly no artificial light in his line of vision.

Two: There was pain. Not any coming from his scar, like he was used to. Instead, a throbbing pain vibrated throughout his left leg. And it felt…wet?

Three: He was lying on a foreign cold and marble floor.

His hand instinctively went to his pocket, searching for the familiar holly wand. It had to be there somewhere…

But as he patted his empty pockets, he quickly began to realize he was in serious trouble. He had no wand…he had no weapon. He was injured, confounded, and defenseless…not to mention he had no clue as to where he was.

What was he going to do?

Quickly Harry began to think. The obvious thought was he was kidnapped. Someone could have captured and wounded him and disposed of him in this unfamiliar room. After all, enough people wanted him dead…

But that left Harry to wonder if the captor was still around, or if the person had fled the scene.

Preparing for the worst, considering it was always the worst that happened, he began to think of how to defend himself. With no wand, he could only preform a few spells, but nothing major, and nothing that was seriously effective. Okay, so magic was out of the question, unless he could worm his way around the attacker and steal their wand. That scenario was…unlikely.

What could he do that didn't involve magic? Harry was always fast; he had practice with running from Dudley and Quidditch. One provided the speed, and the other provided the reflexives. But running didn't really seem like a plan…it was more of a back-up plan. Besides, running didn't seem very Gryffindor. There had to be some other way…

Shit, never mind the houses, he didn't care if he was being a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff or even a Slytherin, this was he fucking_ life_. If he had to run, he would.

That actually did sound like Slytherin…

He shook his head, reminding himself what kind of situation he was in. It was still unnaturally dark. Wouldn't his eyes have begun to adjust to a pitch black room by now? Shouldn't he see shapes and outlines?

Now he was starting to think maybe the darkness was caused by magic. Was there such a spell that could cause that result? Perhaps he would look it up in the Hogwarts Library when he returned for sixth year.

Shaking his head again, he tried to draw forth his most recent memories. Let's see…the day started in the morning, with him waking up at Private Drive, in his normal ratty bed. He remembered that clearly, because it was one of the few nights that he had with no disturbing nightmares. No mysterious veils. No dying Cedric. In Harry's mind, that was a red-letter day…or, really, a red-letter night.

And after he woke up…Aunt Petunia called him down to make breakfast. And he had sliced a cantaloupe and poured coffee and orange juice for the Dursley's. Only being allowed three pieces and a glass of water, Harry got to work on his chores, chipping the paint on the railings outside. And after that he painted them. And after _that _he cared for the garden.

He had worked on chores all day, and then…and then…

And then Vernon came home.

It was late in the day when he walked through the door. Not too far past his normal return time, but late enough for his delay to have been caused by something other than traffic. Harry was in the kitchen, snagging himself a piece of the leftover cantaloupe (Dudley had refused to eat his share) when Vernon caught him. His dear old uncle got violent sometimes after a long day at work, especially if a few drinks happened to slip his way into his diet. It was odd, though, thinking back on it, Harry couldn't remember any alcohol on Vernon's breath.

After Vernon found him…things got a little rough. First it was just a few curses and insults, but Harry had been quick to see where Vernon was going. So he ran to his room and pushed his dresser against the door. Quickly, he let Hedwig out of her cage, and he threw some of his important belongings under the loose floor board. This included his invisibility cloak, photo album, the marauder's map, and his wand.

After the last time, when Vernon had ripped up one of his school books, Harry had learned to hide his more valuable possessions when Vernon came home a bit tipsy.

By the time Harry flapped the floorboard closed, Vernon had pounded through the door and wardrobe. His anger was…unexpected. It was the worst he had been in a long while. And each blow Harry took was more vicious than the next. Desperate to escape, Harry had managed to hit a particular sensitive spot of Vernon, and climbed out the window, taking a rather nasty fall. He had then ran down the block-

And that's the last thing Harry could remember.

He groaned in frustration, but was instantly silenced as footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. And thanks to the wonderfully pitch black room, Harry couldn't see who it was. And thanks to the echoes of the footsteps, he couldn't indentify the direction of the sound. He felt so _helpless_.

Not wanting to be found injured, confounded, and defenseless…_and_ be found lying on the ground, Harry sat up slowly, moving his sore body for the first time since awakening in the unfamiliar territory. He had to bite his lip as his leg moved; the pain increasing with the new added pressure. He silently suffered, though, not wanting to give the unknown approaching person any satisfaction of knowing he was in pain.

But which Deatheater would it be this time? That was the only question Harry had. He was positive it wasn't Voldemort who had taken him…Harry could _feel_ when that man was near, and he defiantly wasn't feeling anything now, except for his own frustration, anger, terror, and desperation…but hey, that was normal.

Everything was normal to you when you were Harry Bloody Potter. Everything other than living normally.

Harry grinded his teeth in agony as he stood up, favoring his uninjured leg.

Slowly, the person grew closer.

And Harry braced himself to come face-to-face with his kidnapper.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

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**A/N**: This is before Rufus Scrimgeour takes over Fudge's position as Minister of Magic.

And _sorry _for the long update. I was in the middle of writing this story when my laptop overheated and shut down…erasing the pages I had shamefully not saved. It was…discouraging and it took a lot to re-write it all. But here it is, done at last, safely saved on a Word Document.

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**In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Chapter One**

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_And as in uffish thought he stood,_

_The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,_

_Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,_

_And burbled as it came!_

_**-Jabberwocky, Lewis Carroll**_

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**Previously:**

_Harry grinded his teeth in agony as he stood up, favoring his uninjured leg. _

_Slowly, the person grew closer._

_And Harry braced himself to come face-to-face with his kidnapper._

**LSS**

The lights turned on around him.

Or, as Harry took a second glance, they weren't really lights. And with a heavy heart Harry took in his surroundings, trying not to think of all the bad memories that came with them.

All around him, prophesies glowed a faint blue on hundreds of shelves.

He was in the Department of Mysterious.

Oh shit.

Squinting, Harry held his hand in front of his face, trying to block the blinding light.

"Mr. Potter," A very familiar voice said. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

Still squinting, Harry could barley make out the image in front of him. A short man with thinning grey hair and dressed in a pinstriped suit stood before him with his wand carefully pointed towards Harry. "Minister Fudge…what? Where am I?"

"Where are you, Mister Potter? Trying to play me a fool?" Harry wasn't certain of what Fudge was talking about, but the tone definitely wasn't one to be taken lightly. Harry could have groaned. Once again he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, wouldn't he have guessed it, the person to catch him in that wrong place happened to be a person who already hated him.

"I'm sorry…I don't know what you mean. I just woke up here!"

Fudge chuckled. "Yes, yes, I do see where you are going. Trying to act like the defenseless victim again, eh?" He straightened his robes and signaled something with his left hand. It was now, Harry saw the eight other people in the room, all coming towards him with their wands trained on him.

"I-I don't know what you mean." He stuttered out again, feeling sick to his stomach. "What's going on?"

"Well that's what I would like you to tell me. What's your business, breaking and entering into the Ministry of Magic after murdering two innocent people? Come to kill more people or did you come to steel? You have, after all, broken into this department before, and I dare-say you know it well enough."

"_What?_" Harry gasped, unable to process what was being told to him. "I-I-I didn't murder anyone! I'm telling you, I just – "

"Woke up here?" Fudge finished for him with a condescending tone. Harry nodded his head viscously as he shifted his weight to his uninjured leg. Why was it that no one ever seemed to believe him? "So you'll be sticking with that story, hmm? No matters, after the proper trial is given you'll be locked up safely behind the haunted bars of Azkaban prison where you'll seize to be a nuisance to the wizarding world." Fudge snapped his fingers and two guards closed in on Harry. "Now take him away."

"But I didn't do anything!" He shouted. "I must have been framed or something! Please, just listen!"

But no one listened, and the Aurors, who Harry had never seen before, shot a binding spell at him. To dazed from the overwhelming and rapidly-played situation in front of him to fight, Harry let thick ropes tightly wrap his arms together.

"Where do you want him held?" One of the men holding his shoulders asked.

Fudge paused in consideration before deciding, "Just take him up to courtroom ten, the dementors will be up shortly. It won't take long for the trial to be organized. Owls have already been sent."

"Trial?" Harry finally asked weakly, his voice cracking, but Fudge already had his back turned and the Aurors were leading him down the aisle. "But I didn't do anything!"

He was met with silence.

**LSS**

It was only a few minutes later that Harry found himself chained to a chair with his injured leg awkwardly laying outwards. After being lead out of the Department of Mysterious and down to Level Ten of the Ministry of Magic, Harry was brought to an all-to-familiar courtroom. It was here that only a year ago did he defend himself against using the Patronus Charm in the presence of a muggle. He was, of course, innocent; only having used the curse to save himself and the muggle, who had been his cousin Dudley, from receiving the dementor's kiss.

He was innocent then, and he was innocent now. For Merlin's sake, he barely even knew _why _he was here. What exactly was he being accused of? Murder and attempted theft? Murder of who, and theft of what? Shouldn't they even take into consideration that his alibi was _true _and that he was being _framed _by Voldemort or his Deatheaters, who Harry had _just proved _returned after a year of mockery? Hadn't he gone through enough to earn the tinniest bit of trust from the wizarding world?

But it didn't matter if they believed him or not. As soon as he was given Veritaserum the truth would spill from his lips and he'd once again be free.

Harry looked around the still-empty courtroom, the only people in the room being two guards. Chairs and benches circled around and the marble on the floor shinned so brightly, Harry could just about see his own reflection. And behind him stood large wooden doors…the only exit from this room.

He chomped down on his tongue as he waited for people to arrive. As nervous as he was, and he was _very _nervous, he couldn't help but feel a desire for the trial to start. The sooner it started, the sooner he would be out of this bizarre mess.

After what seemed like hours Harry heard the door open. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw a group of Ministry officials entering. He recognized some of them. A few nameless faces that had attended his last hearing were entering, along with Amelia Bones, Cornelius Fudge, and Percy Weasley. Harry assumed Umbridge was still recovering from her last run-in with the centaurs, and Harry was extremely thankful he didn't have to deal with that toad on top of everything else that was happening. The following people sat in the elevated risers in front of him, looking down on him threateningly. The courtroom was just about full, meaning that at least three times the amount of people who had been present the last time were here now, so Harry thought the trial would finally began, since everyone seemed to be in attendance.

Harry was surprised, however, when the trial didn't start.

He was even more shocked when he heard the door open once more, and saw even more people enter. This time Harry could name every face that walked through the door. Now all the Weasleys were in the room, along with Hermione, and – Harry's eyes widened – was that _Petunia and Dudley_? The first thing Harry wondered was how _anyone _could have convinced those two to show up on wizarding grounds. The second thing he wondered was why _would _anyone convince those two to come here…and if they were here where was Uncle Vernon?

"As an extra safety precaution bring in the dementors," Fudge's voice rang out, and one of the Aurors standing guard of Harry left swiftly. Harry's heart began to race as he remembered how he reacted when the dementors were around. But hadn't the Ministry lost control of them when Voldemort came back?

Harry bit his lip in frustration. He should have paid closer attention to the Prophet. The ministry probably re-gained control of them at some point after the summer had begun. He hadn't had the will to read about the wizarding world after what happened with Sirius…

A lump formed in his throat and his heart throbbed painfully.

Things only got worse for Harry when the Auror returned moments later with two black clocked _things _trailing behind him. As they drew closer Harry's stomach sank and his eyes slightly watered as a new memory raced through his mind; the laughs of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius falling…falling…

And then his mothers the screams filled his hearing as he watched Sirius fall to death. The screams and the laughter became louder and clearer with each inch the dementor glided towards him. A frost was spreading up his limbs and his memories seemed to send his mind into an eternal darkness and –

"Too close, back them up three feet. We need him to be conscious when he admits to his crimes."

The shrieks died away until the only thing left of terrible noise was a quiet little hum that gave Harry a slight headache. Flushed and pale, Harry opened his eyes and saw he wasn't the only person in Courtroom Ten feeling the chilling effects of the dementors, but as usual he was the only one reacting in such a negative way. He glanced up at the section where his friends were currently residing and looks of grief and pity penetrated him so hard he could still feel their sorrowful stares when he looked away.

"Now, Weatherby, are you ready to began?" Fudge addressed Percy, who nodded eagerly but caught himself and responded with a professional "yes sir."

"Take note: trial begins eighth of July at nine forty seven A.M on a Thursday." Percy scribbled away. "This trial is for one Harry James Potter a current resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Said person is being trialed for the murder of a Mr. Vernon Dursley and Kingsley Shacklebolt at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey on the sixth of July and being tried under the Decree for Aggravated Burglary on Official Property and the attempt to break the Decree for Witnessing and Stealing the Unspeakables' Artifacts. Harry James Potter may also be in offense of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. If Harry James Potter is proven guilty of these actions, he will be punished as seen fit, the _minimum_ extent of that punishment serving three years in Azkaban."

Harry had a dry mouth. It had been _two days _since Harry had been at Privet Drive? Vernon and Kingsley were _dead_? And they thought _he _murdered them? They thought he broke into the ministry to steal from the Department of Mysteries? And, probably the most important and shocking news there: he was going to go to Azkaban if he was proven guilty for these crimes he obviously didn't commit?

Fudge continued. "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and," He glanced over at Dumbledore, who nodded gravely. Fudge didn't seem to anticipate this, but nevertheless continued, "and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." Harry's eyes widened, and a look of betrayal flashed across his face as he heard Dumbledore would be trying to prove him guilty. But, after a second of thought, Harry decided that it was all part of the plan. Dumbledore surly didn't believe him guilty…he didn't want him locked up in Azkaban. Dumbledore was surely going to still try and prove him innocent…right?

The Minister continued. "Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. Witness for the defense…" Fudge looked around the room and smiled. "No witness for the defense. Harry James Potter shall defend himself."

With his mouth slightly open, Harry just stared up at the interrogators, not being able to accomplish much more.

"The charges against the accused are as followed," Fudge's voice boomed. "That Harry James Potter, with all full awareness, stabbed Vernon Dursley through the heart with a butcher's knife in his bedroom of number four Privet Drive, at approximately six o' clock, before retreating outside where he came face-to-face with Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror put there to stand guard against Deatheaters, and stabbed him in the throat with the same weapon only minutes later. This, of course, goes against the Decree of Murder, 1867. Afterwards, Harry James Potter broke into the Ministry, and was found in the Department of Mysteries."

"Now, you are Harry James Potter, the resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge questioned Harry just as he did the last time Harry was here.

"Yes." Harry answered as firmly as he could, trying not to voice his shock at what Fudge had previously stated.

"On the sixth of July, were you or were you not in number four, Privet Drive around the time of the murder?"

"I-I don't know," Harry said, immediately regretting saying that. "I left the house-"

"You left the house after killing the two victims, fleeing from the scene before you were discovered?" asked Fudge.

"No! I didn't kill anyone!" Harry said angrily. "I just left the house, I _can _do that, you know. I'm not in there all the time."

"But you left the house and didn't come back, correct? Or else you would have found the two corpses of the victims that you killed."

"I didn't kill them! And I didn't return because someone must have attac-"

Fudge interrupted him again. "You do know that killing someone, by uses of magic or not, is a serious crime?"

"Of course!" Harry practically yelled. "BECAUSE I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!"

An exhausted sigh came from next to Minister Fudge and Harry turned to look at Madam Bones. "This is getting tiresome," She muttered under her breath. She then addressed a guard, one that seemed rather pale considering he was the closest person in the room to the dementor. "Bring in the Veritaserum."

The guard went to leave, in a hurry to get away from the cloaked monster, but stopped when Dumbledore stood up.

Harry felt hope rise in his heart. Dumbledore was about to speak. He obviously had something to say, something that would help Harry. Surely with both Dumbledore and the Veritaserum Harry would be proven innocent in no time.

"Now really," He said. "You know as well as I do that under paragraph six in section F of Misuse of Potions and Spells that an under-age wizard is not allowed to be given Veritaserum. It is much too powerful for a minor to drink safely."

Harry's eyes widened along with many others around the room. Dumbledore was forbidding the use of Veritaserum. Anyone who might have believed in Harry Potter's innocence now knew that without the truth serum, that was little to no chance of Harry being let go without charges.

Madam Bones had her eyebrows raised. "Now Dumbledore, surely you understand how necessary it is to find the truth? With the little evidence that is to be presented, Veritaserum is the only _factual _evidence we'll have? We do not want a possible innocent fifteen year old locked up in Azkaban!"

Harry mentally thanked Amelia Bones. She believed him. Maybe most jury members did as well? Maybe he really did have hope after all.

"Veritaserum is not the answer," Dumbledore's voice sounded throughout the room. "Besides the danger of a minor drinking it, there is a factor, unfortunately, that can keep Harry Potter from telling the complete truth under the potion. Therefore, it would be useless to use."

Harry was frantic. What was Dumbledore doing? This either meant Dumbledore didn't believe Harry was innocent, or it meant that Dumbledore believed Harry _was _innocent but didn't want him confessing he was innocent for some odd reason. But there was defiantly _not _some "factor" keeping him from telling the truth under the potion. He felt a rush of anger vibrate through him. There wasn't anything wrong with his mind!

The Headmaster continued. "Now, Minister, I would like to question a few people I have asked to attend the trial and present a few pieces of evidence that I have found. I know you have found your own proof of Mr. Potter's fingerprints on the knife that killed Vernon Dursley and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and his obvious entrance into the Department of Mysteries – "

"Well, yes," Fudge interrupted. "This was not his first time entering the Ministry during restricted hours, and it was not his first time traveling along the Department of Mysterious. Surely the last time there he saw something that sparked his interest."

Dumbledore put his hand up to stop Fudge from talking. "Yes, Minister. We all know the story." Harry gaped at him. "But I would like to show my evidence; evidence that will prove Mr. Potter is guilty of what he is accused, considering Veritaserum and legimancy are not options we can use."

"Why is that?" Amelia Bones inquired.

"Because," Dumbledore answered. "Harry Potter's mind has been tampered with by Voldemort."

Some people gasped, and Harry might have been one of them if his mouth wasn't hanging open and his voice wasn't stuck in his throat. Why would Dumbledore say that? Why was he going against him!? Why!?

"What's this nonsense you're speaking of?" Fudge asked harshly. "Explain yourself this instant before you're kicked out of this trial!" Yes, Harry thought finding himself agreeing with Fudge for once. Explain this _nonsense_.

Dumbledore wasted no time. "In the Atrium of the Ministry, the same day Voldemort was officially announced to have return, Voldemort possessed Mr. Potter for a matter of seconds. Isn't that true, Mr. Potter?"

Harry slightly nodded his head, not sure of what to feel or say.

Dumbledore continued. "Of course, Voldemort could only possess Mr. Potter for a few seconds, but by showing how much influence he could have over Harry Potter from such a far distance showed me that Voldemort could do much more than possess Harry Potter and give him nightmares." Harry bawled his fists in anger as he heard Dumbledore speak. "Over a course of just a few months, Voldemort could plant dark and manipulative thoughts in Mr. Potter's mind. He could influence Potter's actions, but not control them, meaning he gave Harry Potter the ideas, and let Harry Potter follow through on them. I'm sorry to say that this means even though Voldemort gave Mr. Potter a dark mind, it was still Potter, and not Voldemort, who killed those two people.

"But you all may wonder how this is possible. Voldemort is surely a great Legilimens but he can't manipulate a person's mind from such a distance, much less a person who can fight off the Imperius Curse. Well that is because there is a link between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort that no other wizards share. This link can let them enter the mind of each other as easily as a master Legilimens can enter a barrier lacking mind.

"Therefore," Dumbledore concluded. "Any methods of looking into Mr. Potter's mind will be wasteful. We wouldn't know what memories to trust, and what emotions were true."

Harry was sick of all of this. None of this was true, no one was listening to him, everything was getting out of control! So before anyone could say anymore Harry shouted, "I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE! I DIDN'T BREAK INTO THE MINISTRY! I LEFT MY HOUSE, GOT ATTACKED, AND WOKE UP HERE! I DIDN'T DO _ANYTHING_! AND VOLDEMORT SURE AS HELL WASN'T CONTROLLING ME OR MY MIND OR ANYTHING! I. AM. _INNOCENT_!"

But his outburst didn't seem to mean anything. It was as if he was just as invisible as he was when he entered this courtroom in the pensieve in his fourth year. Dumbledore turned towards him and said quietly, "Harry, I am sorry you turned out this way. I am sorry for the future you must face. I truly am." He raised his voice. "I would now like to present my gathered amounts of evidence that will prove Harry James Potter is guilty of what he is accused of."

Harry felt numb. How could Dumbledore do this? How could he, Harry's mentor, do this? Did Dumbledore truly believe Harry was guilty? Did he really think Harry killed those people? Or, for some sick reason, did Dumbledore want Harry locked up?

Feeling positive it was the latter, though he wasn't sure why, Harry could only feel betrayal.

"Ronald Weasley, if you would please stand!" Dumbledore's voice boomed.

But Harry found himself looking hopeful as he watched his red faced and haired friend rise. Surely Ron would defend him to some extent, right?

"Mr. Weasley, you are to tell the truth to any questions asked. If you do not, there will be serious consequences to your actions. And don't think you'll get away with any lies, for, including me, there are three trained legilimens in the room who can easily detect the lie of a trained Auror."

"I-I'll tell the truth," Ron stuttered out, looking embarrassed and yet flattered that he was being asked to take part in such an important trial.

"Good," A pleased Dumbledore responded. "Now, would you consider yourself to be a very close friend of Harry Potter?"

"Erm, yes," Ron answered.

"So, as a good friend, you would converse with him frequently over the summer by owl?"

"Yeah, we send letters to each other," Ron said uncertainly. "Why?"

"A few days before the attack, did you receive a letter from Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, I did."

Dumbledore pressed on, and Harry found himself glaring at the man he once looked up to. "And did this letter have anything unusual written in it? Anything odd?"

"Yeah!" Ron answered before getting confused. "Wait, how did you know that?"

Harry felt like smacking himself for Ron's stupidity, even though he was bewildered about what letter they were talking about. The last letter he had sent was to Remus, at least two weeks before the time they said he sent Ron a letter. In fact, Harry thought as his heart began to race, he hadn't seen Hedwig since she left to find Remus. What if someone intersected his owl and sent a fake letter? Harry looked around the courtroom. And Remus wasn't present…was that because he wasn't invited or was it because he was missing?

"Mrs. Weasley generously told me about the letter as soon as Mr. Potter was accused of killing Vernon Dursley." Dumbledore nodded to Molly with a twinkle in his eyes, and she nodded back, with her own smile that matched the only she had given Lockhart only a few years prior.

"Mum!" Fred elbowed from beside her. "Why'd you do that?"

"You know Harry didn't kill anyone!" George said from next to Fred.

"Hush!" She chastised. "After I found the letter while cleaning Ron's room, I knew it was important. And after Harry was thought to have murdered those people, I went straight to Dumbledore. And don't look at me like that, Harry was once our friend, but that's changed! You heard what Dumbledore said. Harry isn't being himself. He's being influenced by Voldemort. I don't want my family in danger! And I'll be a wingless three-eyed fwooper if I let him harm my family, or anyone else if I can help it!"

Percy smiled slightly and proudly looked at his mom while Harry felt a painful pang in his chest. He had always thought of Mrs. Weasley as a mother figure in his life and hearing her say those things hurt.

Dumbledore continued, "Thank you greatly, Mrs. Weasley." He turned his attention back to Ron. "Can you tell me what the letter said?"

"Uh," Ron said as he thought. "I dunno…just some things about him hating his family or something. But that isn't _that _weird. He's always complaining about the Dursley's."

Now Harry felt the need to smack _Ron_ for his stupidity.

"Well, that's certainly interesting to hear, is it not?" Dumbledore looked at the jury. "But, to clear up the confusion, I have here, the letter Harry Potter wrote to Ronald Weasley. It says, and I quote, 'Ron, it's been a mess down here, as always. I don't have much time to talk. All I have to say is I hope school starts soon, because the longer I stay with the Dursleys the more I think I'm gonna snap. I can't stand Private Drive…'" Dumbledore put the letter away and looked around the room with a speculating gaze.

Harry took this opportunity of silence to yell out, "But I didn't write that letter!" And he didn't. Besides, in no way did that sound like him. And Harry only complained about the Dursleys in school, and even then it was just a small comment. He never told them about how he got hit around, even though the hits weren't usually bad. They were only really threatening that night Vernon came home…the last night Harry saw him alive.

"Ron, what owl delivered that letter to you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er, Hedwig. The white snowy Harry has." Finally understanding Ron said lowly, "Wow, Harry, I can't believe you killed your uncle."

Harry felt his eyes bulging, and if he had his wand he would have cursed Ron for believing any of this rubbish. "THAT DOESN'T MEAN I WROTE THE LETTER! I DIDN'T WRITE THAT AND I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!"

"Ah, but Mr. Potter," Dumbledore spoke, unaffected by Harry's screams of rage, as he reached into his robes and pulled out another piece of parchment. "This is one of your school essays. And, as I will let the Minister and jury see, the handwriting matches perfectly. From the ending curl of an 's' to the slant you make when writing a 'b' you will find everything pairs up."

Harry was starting to sweat and desperately shouted, "But maybe someone forged it! Maybe there's a spell that matches a person's handwriting! There has to be an explanation! I _didn't _write that letter!"

"Mr. Potter! Silence!" Fudge roared. "If you have no proof, you are not to speak."

"I do have proof though!" Harry yelled. "Look through my memories! I'm a horrible occulemens, you'll be able to see I didn't write that! You'll see I didn't kill anyone! You'll be able to go through all my memories and know I'm telling the truth!"

"Yes, but we can't," Dumbledore solemnly stated. "With the planted emotions and schemes Voldemort placed inside Mr. Potter's mind there is no way we could trust even the smallest glimpse of a memory. It's the same reason as for why we can't use Veritaserum. A tampered mind tells only lies. And Mr. Potter, your mind has been tampered with."

"We've been over this _before_," An impatient Fudge said. "Dumbledore continue."

"Of course, Minister. Thank you Mr. Weasley you may sit. Ms. Granger please stand," Dumbledore's voice ordered.

Startled, Hermione's eyebrows furrowed and she glanced at Harry before standing. Silently, Harry prayed that Hermione wouldn't turn against him, like Ron…like Mrs. Weasley.

"Now Ms. Granger, I would like to ask _you _if you consider yourself a good friend of Harry Potter? Would you say you two are close?"

Hermione glanced at Harry again before nodding. "Yes, we're good friends…"

"Would you also consider yourself to be a person of knowledge? You wouldn't believe something unless all the facts supported it? You aren't a person who would think something to be true if all the facts on it proved otherwise?"

Hermione's expression turned into stone as her brows seeped downwards into anger. "Only if _all _the evidence shown proved something to be true."

Dumbledore's stare penetrated her. "So based on everything stated in this courtroom, do you believe that Harry Potter is guilty?"

"Of course not!" Hermione cried, and Harry let his tightened muscles relax from relief. At least _one _person thought him to be innocent, but, as Harry remembered, there were Fred an George as well. Hermione looked his way again and smiled which Harry gratefully returned.

A disbelieved Dumbledore continued. "Ms. Granger, are you saying that despite all the facts that were presented, you will continue to think that Harry Potter is not guilty?"

"Nothing you've said is accurate!" And Harry screamed his thanks in his head, eternally grateful for Hermione's loyalty and confidence in him. "You have a letter, but that doesn't mean Harry sent it! You found his fingerprints on a weapon, but that doesn't mean he killed anyone! If you all were to stop and think for one minute that what Harry was saying was _true_, that he was _attacked_, then maybe you could reason that someone framed him or – "

"Ms. Granger!" Dumbledore snapped.

"No!" She yelled. "_No_. This is Harry Potter!" She looked around the room with a desperate gaze. "This is the person who's tried to protect all of you by warning us of V-Voldemort's return! _That_ – " She pointed at Fudge furiously. "_That _is the person who wouldn't accept the truth! Who wouldn't offer any help, or do _anything _to the threat he choose to not see! The person that wasted a year while V-Voldemort grew stronger! So who should we be trusting, hmm?"

"You are not seeing the whole picture Ms. Granger," Dumbledore calmly interrupted to an out-of-breath Hermione. "This isn't the same Harry Potter you knew. You are being deceived. This Harry Potter has had dark and murderous thoughts placed in his head by Voldemort. He has had his mind manipulated so much that he has become a different person, but not enough for it to be considered mind control. He has done the actions willingly, which is why he must be locked up."

"No! _You're _being deceived! You all are!" She screamed as tears rushed to her face.

"Ms. Granger!" This time it wasn't Dumbledore who spoke, it was Fudge. "If you don't calm yourself you will be asked to leave this hearing. Do you understand?"

With a watery layer glazed over her eyes, Hermione glared, reminding Harry strongly of Professor McGonagall, as she sat herself back down on the wooden bench.

"And now I would like to bring up a new point, a new piece of evidence proving Harry Potter broke into the Ministry of Magic purposely." Dumbledore turned toward a guard. "Bring in my pensieve!" Albus' voice rang out, and the Auror quickly left the room to roll in a cart with a rather large cauldron sitting on top seconds latter. "As you are all aware, this is a device that shows memories…memories that are impossible to imagine. What does this mean, Madam Bones?"

She lifted her chin into the air and sniffed. "It means that whatever you are showing us actually happened. It is a legitimate memory."

"Yes, indeed. Now pay close attention," His voice rumbled as he pointed his wand at the pensieve and a silver mist covered the air, shimmering in its place until the wisps of smoke began to form images. Before Harry knew it, he was looking at a clear, colored, 3D image.

He had to stop himself for tearing as he watched the memory replay itself.

_Harry and Neville were in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysterious. Harry was sweating, and had dark circles under his eyes. Neville had a bloody nose and his legs were flaring about from the Tarantallegra curse. Around them members of the Order fought with mask faced Deatheaters. _

Harry noted with tearful eyes that Sirius and Bellatrix were fighting way to the right of the memory.

"_Come on!" The Harry in the memory shouted to Neville as he pulled at his robes. "Just try and push with your legs – "_

_Harry pulled at the Neville's robes harder, tearing them slightly. And as the robes tore a small glass ball fell from Neville's pocket. Harry reached to catch the ball before it hit the ground, but one of Neville's feet (flopping around like mad) kicked the ball at least ten feet away. Harry watched with a terrified stare as the Prophecy smashed on the stone floor._

_And he still gazed with horror as a white misty figure whispered something (un-audible from the noise around them) from where the prophecy smashed and disappeared into thin air._

The memory above the pensieve started to fad away and the last thing heard were the cries of Neville saying, _"Harry, I'b sorry! I'b so sorry…"_

With a hollow look in his eye Harry stared at the pensieve, lost in his thoughts.

But they were rudely interrupted as Dumbledore yelled out, "That was my own memory from the Department of Mysteries. As you saw, the prophecy Harry Potter had crashed more than ten feet away from him, not penetrating him in the slightest, yes?" With nods circling him he continued. "So then, why does Mr. Potter's leg have remains of the enchanted glass used for containing prophecies?" Blank stares penetrated Dumbledore so he elaborated. "You see, probably only a few of you are aware that Mr. Potter has two Prophecies about him. The first one, the one you saw destroyed in the memory, and a second." Dumbledore turned to face Harry. "The second, which was found shattered on the floor right where Mr. Potter was found. The second that _only _Mr. Potter could touch, to make it smash. The second that still has small remains placed within his leg." Dumbledore pulled his wand out. "Accio prophecy remains." Glass zipped out of Harry's leg, making him hiss in protest, and zoomed towards Dumbledore who made them stop before they hit him and stay floating in the air.

"I didn't even know there another stupid prophecy!" Yelled Harry. "I didn't smash it! I didn't do anything wrong!"

Ignoring him, Dumbledore yelled out, "And just in case anyone still has any doubt that Mr. Potter is guilty I would like for Petunia and Dudley Dursley, relatives of Harry Potter and Vernon Dursley, to stand."

Very hesitant and frightened the only two muggles in the room stood.

"Petunia," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "You have raised Harry. You know him better than anyone." Harry wanted to scream in protest. "Do you think he is guilty of what he is accused?"

Petunia sniffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if he has done even worse. He's always been a nasty little addition to the family. Always stirring up trouble wherever he went. He was nothing but a nuisance to me, my son, and – " It was now she started to cry " – And my dear husband!" She started to sob. "Oh, Vernon!"

"Thank you Ms. Dursley, you may sit." As she did just that, her hands still covering her distressed face, Dumbledore turned his attention to a petrified Dudley.

"And you, Dudley Dursley, are the cousin of Harry Potter, am I right?" Dudley nodded, horrified, is hands twitching towards his bottom. "And do you think Mr. Potter is guilty?"

Doing the best impression of Quirrell Harry had ever heard Dudley choked out, "I-I a-agree wit-th m-my m-m-m-mom."

"Why is that?" Dumbledore pressed, and Harry felt the urge to strike out at his old and wrinkled face.

"H-he's al-al-alw-ways been t-trouble. H-he'd th-th-threaten me w-w-with h-his wand all th-the t-t-time. He'd sh-shove it r-right u-up there ag-against m-m-my n-neck. He-he was such a-a-a f-_freak_."

"Thank you, you may sit." Dumbledore looked a Fudge. "Minister, I am finished."

"Good then," Fudge coughed, straightening his robes. "Now, then, let us discuss our decision."

The people all around the room started whispering. Harry stared at the floor in horror. Before, the only punishment he would have received was an expulsion from Hogwarts. Now he might go to Azkaban…

His heart raced and his eyes stung as he waited.

The whispering stopped.

Madam Bones yelled out, "Those in favor of conviction?"

Harry had to force his head up, and regretted it when he did. The entire room, minus the small section the Wesleys and Dursleys sat (they weren't allowed to vote), had their hands raised.

_Shit_, Harry thought.

Fudge smiled, and Harry stared horrified, not able to speak.

"Guilty," The Minister stated.

_Shit._

"Mr. Potter is guilty." He repeated again, gleefully. "He shall be escorted to Azkaban by no less than five dementors. He shall serve twenty years until he is brought out and examined and evaluated. Until then, he will be spending his time in Cell d58."

Not being able to be aware of anything around him Harry fell into a numb state of mind.

He was going to Azkaban.

_Oh shit_.

* * *

**A/N**: I attempted to write a trial, I'm not sure how it worked out. In a few Azkaban stories I've read I never came across a long, start-to-finish, hearing and I wanted to add one to this story. Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

Voldemort should make an appearance soon. Maybe next chapter, most likely in the one after that. But there will be a short time jump next chapter. I'm thinking three years. So the _real _excitement starts next chapter, with dark Harry making his first appearance in the story.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter or any songs by Lemon Demon.

* * *

**A/N**: Long update, yes, I know. Bare with me here.

And if you want, skip the Azkaban description, I'm sure everything I had to write had been said at one point or another. It's basically me trying to sum up that Azkaban is, overall, one bottomless pit of suck.

Oh, I'm supposed to do this too, I suppose:

Warning for…extensive use in language.

* * *

******In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_And I shall haunt like the Buggane,_

_With such weird noise and clanking chains._

_Hello, I'm here, I'm living in the wall,_

_I know I might be small._

_But I am a freak._

_**-Eighth Wonder, Lemon Demon**_

* * *

**Previously:**

_Not being able to be aware of anything around him Harry fell into a numb state of mind._

_He was going to Azkaban._

_Oh shit__._

**LLS**

(Three Years Later.)

Azkaban was unpleasant to say the least.

Every morning, or, since he really couldn't tell the time, every time Harry woke up, there was a new wooden bowl of sludge waiting for him. He would stare at it for an hour or so, preparing his stomach for the horribly innutritious gruel, before finally willing his body to eat the terrible food. He would eat about half about of it before his stomach would start to give horrible pulsating clenches, threatening him with vomit. Usually he held it in. Usually.

It was around this time the dementors would come. One would take the bowl away, the other two would stand outside of his cell and surround his small space with echoes of his worst memories. Harry would then pass out after about ten minutes. The second time he woke up, the dementors would be gone. Harry would sit in the corner, with one leg against his chest, glaring at the door, willing it to open.

It never opened.

And always, _always_, no matter what time it was there were the shrieks and cackles of the other prisoners. During his first few weeks the sound had made Harry shiver. The sounds where so inhuman, so cold, so tortuous. And it usually wasn't the dementors that caused those agonizing sounds. The dementors were far from the worst thing about Azkaban. And after a month Harry had regrettably grown accustomed to the sounds. By a year, he had learned to take comfort that it was someone _else _being tortured, instead of himself. And by the second year he had joined in with a few of those ear piercing screams at some point or another during the times he was conscious.

It was during those times the heavy air seemed extra thick and sickly and when the walls seemed just a little too close and when life itself seemed to question Harry why he continued to live.

His life had become the newest circle of Hell.

Yeah, Azkaban was pretty fucking unpleasant…to say the least.

**LLS**

It was during one of those more unpleasant days of Azkaban when it happened.

Staring with cold green eyes Harry watched through the small spaces in-between the bars of his small cell window as shadows danced in his vision. The only shadows Harry ever saw were the dementors. Visitors never came down to level D in Azkaban. And ever since the dementors came back to work for the ministry the wizard guards left to give their services elsewhere.

So the shadows had to be dementors.

But Harry didn't feel an odd sensation of pure dread sinking into his skin.

They weren't dementors.

Incredibly suspicious Harry kept his eyesight on the cell door. Granted, his vision was far from perfect (his glasses had been confiscated upon entering the prison) Harry could still see blurry outlines and colors of shapes.

He slowly approached the small window of the door and looked out. But that proved to be a useless effort as the small rectangular hole didn't prove for much of an observation mechanism for Harry to use. He _could _hear soft and rushed mumbles of people talking, however.

People were here.

Wizards were here.

Harry felt drawn to the normal and sane voices he heard. He also felt a small bubble of hope rise in the pit of his stomach that had felt like a stone for far too long. He didn't know why he felt the way he did. There wasn't any possible reason for Harry to feel _anything_. His sentence couldn't possibly have expired. They couldn't be here to let him out.

Harry immediately narrowed his stone eyes.

That was true. His sentence _wasn't _over. No one's was. Level D in Azkaban was in existence only for life-long and/or extremely dangerous prisoners. No one was getting out of Azkaban today.

So why were the wizards here?

He strained his ears to hear actual words instead of the soft murmurs, but the two wizards had stopped to argue with each other just out of range from Harry's cell. Harry felt himself grow more defensive, and intrigued. Albeit, he couldn't here hear the actual words, but he could still hear the tones. They sounded rushed, scared. Harry's eyes widened in comprehension. Those wizards weren't supposed to be there.

Harry realized who they were just in time.

"For fuck's sake, just do it!" One of the wizards shouted, as Harry rushed to the far corner of his cell and covered his head with his arms.

His wall exploded. Bits of the Azkaban rocks shattered and flew in all directions.

Then another piece of Azkaban broke off.

Then another.

Then another.

The deafening sounds of a building being demolished sounded all around Harry. Rocks flew everywhere. The two wizards Harry had heard before shouted spell after spell, wrecking everything. They had far moved past his broken cell to crush more. It was a pandemonium in the making.

Once the commotion was far enough past his cell Harry risked uncovering his head. All around him was dust. Half his wall was gone, along with every other cell he could see. Most of the people who were occupying them were already gone. A few had yet to understand what was going on around them. A few never would understand, and staid in their half cracked cell laughing or screaming.

Harry made sure the two Deatheaters weren't paying him any attention. He had already assumed the wizards _were _Deatheaters, and on a raid to break out more people from Azkaban to find recruits. And of course after smashing down half the walls, Harry was _pretty sure _he was right. After all, Voldemort and the Deatheaters had broken into Azkaban once. It wasn't that surprising that they would do it again.

But, Harry thought as he ran in the other direction of the two Deatheaters. There was no way in hell the Deatheaters were ordered to break _him _out too. Surly Voldemort would want him locked up, away from all the action?

Of course, Harry concluded. The only reason Voldemort would even attempt to break Harry out would be so he could finally kill him, or make him become some sick slave. Harry sneered at the thought of serving someone.

That didn't matter at this particular moment though. Harry _was _out now. And he couldn't help the sly grin that formed on his face. He was practically free.

But, Harry argued with himself. You aren't even close to freedom. The wards have probably been alerting the Ministry about the intruders for a while now. In no time Aurors will be sweeping the perimeter, stunning all the prisoners trying to break free, and giving them a longer sentence for trying to escape. The safe thing to do would be to go back to your cell and sit there so you can't be charged for more time.

Harry growled as that thought entered his mind. Even if it looked like he didn't try to break free, they'd find some way to blame him for _something_. He was Harry Potter – he was blamed for _everything_.

He wasn't going to be a timid little mouse. This was his chance to escape!

Where would you go though? He questioned himself again. You're on an _island_. You can't apparate. Even if you could, you have no wand, no money, and no knowledge of the current condition of the wizarding world. You wouldn't know who to trust, where to turn, or what to do if you got in the middle of a fight.

Harry paused on the staircase he was descending. That was true. He didn't have any ways to escape the island. He had nowhere to hide. He'd be a fugitive. He'd be wanted. And everyone would be able to identify him because of his damn scar.

Harry bit his lip and turned his head in the direction he had just come from. If he got caught…if he told the Deatheaters _who _he was…it was possible that they would take him away from Azkaban to Voldemort.

It was a risk.

Harry stood on the staircase for a good minute, weighing his options as other prisoners rushed past him in haste to get away.

Finally, Harry made up his mind.

He ran back to section D in Azkaban, ignoring the fact that his legs were starting to wobble from so much use. Once he reached the floor he frantically looked for the Deatheaters he had seen earlier, praying to Merlin he hadn't made up his mind to slow.

He rounded a corner, and, well, he had never been happier to see a Deatheater mask in his life.

"I'm telling you Malair, that's everyone," Harry heard one say in a gruff voice. "The others let out the other prisoners on the different levels. Their handing out portkeys downstairs for the prisoners to use to get back to the mansion. Everything went per-fucking-ly."

"Something's wrong, Darlcor," Malair said. "We overlooked something."

Darlcor screamed in frustration. "No, no we didn't! Shit, let's just leave before the Aurors get here! They certainly know by now that the raid in that muggle town was a distraction! Let's go, damn it!"

Harry had to let himself be known quickly. And he had to make it look unintentional. He didn't want the Dark Lord thinking he purposely went with the Deatheaters. He didn't want Voldemort misinterpreting his actions and thinking Harry wanted to join him or something.

"I'll leave without you Malair, I swear to fuck I will," Darlcor hissed, and Harry started sweating. He had to go _now_. He had to get caught _now_.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He gave into his shaking legs and fell, pretending to be unconscious.

"What the fuck was that?" Darlcor asked in frustration and walked over to where Harry fell.

Harry's heart was racing as Darlcor approached him. He could feel the Deatheater's presence hovering over him. Harry was starting to have doubts at the worst possible moment. Maybe this wasn't the best idea, maybe he should have staid tucked away from all the nonsense in his cell.

"Malair, come over here! I think I found that thing we over looked!"

Harry resisted the urge to swallow the bitter lump of spit that had worked its way into his mouth. He was going with the Deatheaters. He was letting himself be captured. All those years of running away…of all those fights…they didn't matter anymore. He was now willingly going to Voldemort.

But, he reminded himself. He wasn't going to join the man. He was simply going from one prison to another. Considering his other option was Azkaban it was the right choice to make…right?

Besides, it wasn't as if he was the same light loving child he was before. Harry didn't want to fight Voldemort anymore. He didn't know what he wanted to fight for, or if he even wanted to fight in the war at all. He wasn't on any side. Perhaps Voldemort would see that he wasn't a threat anymore and simply let him go? After all, Voldemort didn't know the whole story about the prophecy. Harry wasn't even sure if the prophecy was correct anymore.

It was wishful thinking.

"Malair, we hit the fucking jackpot!" Darlcor yelled in glee as he examined Harry. "Our lord we reward us greatly for this! We have Harry Potter! Harry fucking Potter!"

Malair sounded shocked. "Well what are you waiting for? Let's bind him and take him back with us."

Ropes wrapped themselves around Harry. Seconds later Harry felt the unnerving feeling of a portkey.

He was being taken to Voldemort.

He was tied up. He had no wand. He had no allies. He had no plan. He didn't even have much hope.

This would be interesting…to say the least.

* * *

**A/N**: You can't see me right now, but I'm cringing.

It's not because I'm not happy with how this chapter turned out, even though I'm not. But it just seems to be going too _fast_. I was thinking Harry would escape or something and I was thinking he'd go to – okay, I hadn't planned that far ahead. It's just I really wasn't expecting _this_.

But that's the way the story went. Once it decided, I couldn't change it.

But, I have an idea for next chapter. Scratch that, as I'm writing this a _huge _plot for the next several chapters just formed in my head. Haha, this is why I write these author notes. During them huge inspiration waves strike me and I have the next parts of the story planed out.

And yes, I know Darlcor and Malair aren't real characters. Don't worry, they aren't really important. So you don't have to deal with Darlcor's dirty tongue much longer.

**Also, I know my summary. It isn't a mistake.**

Okay, review if you want (I mean, we all love reviews and it really boosts the confidence), but seriously just keep reading and alerting the story. I love the alerts more than the reviews most of the time. The alerts mean you're at least _slightly _interested to see where the story goes. It means I'm doing something right, even if the only thing right is giving you guys a good slash story between our two favorite characters.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Harry Potter series or the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

* * *

**A/N**: Quick update: it is definitely impossible. Sorry for the wait.

* * *

**In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Chapter Three

* * *

**

_It takes me a long time to get used to people I do not know. For example, when there is a new member of staff at school I do not talk to them for weeks. I just watch them until I know they are safe. _

_Then I ask them questions about themselves, like whether they have pets and what is their favorite color and what do they know about the Apollo space missions and I get them to draw a plan of their house and I ask them what kind of car they drive, so I get to know them. _

_Then I don't mind if I am in the same room as them and don't have to watch them all the time._

_**-Mark Haddon, the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time

* * *

**_

**Previously:**

_He was being taken to Voldemort._

_He was tied up. He had no wand. He had no allies. He had no plan. He didn't even have much hope._

_This would be interesting…to say the least._

**LSS**

Voldemort sat behind a mahogany table.

He ran a hand through his newly grown black hair as he took in the information he had received from his Deatheaters.

Currently he was checking in on how the Azkaban raid had gone. Afterwards he would then have to survey the escaped prisoners, see who was loyal, useful, easy to manipulate. And after _that _he would need to actually mark those that fit all, or some of those qualities. And the ones that didn't make the cut would simply be obliviated.

He had already had meetings with Lucius, Rookwood, and Nott who were each assigned a level in Azkaban. The meetings had been short and informative. Everything had went as planed. The raid, involving a few other of his trusted Deatheaters, in Hogsmeade, had been a diversion to draw attention away from Azkaban for the Aurors, and those involved with that ridiculous Order of the Phoenix cult.

And the Azkaban break out was obviously to regain old Deatheaters and find new ones.

His eyes scanned across the papers laid out on the desk, and he resisted to groan as he saw who were next in line to meet with him:

Malair and Darlcor.

Those two idiots...he couldn't even assign them each their own level because they were so irresponsible. He would have sent them out on the Hogsmeade raid...but since there was the possibility they would let it slip that a break out in Azkaban was in the making, he had to assign a new task. That, and there was also the fact that level d in Azkaban, the level they were assigned to, was full of catatonic prisoners, and it wouldn't matter if most didn't make it to the portkeys. Mostly the prisoners were non responsive was because it was the most heavily guarded level in Azkaban, with dementors sweeping through the corridors up to six times an hour.

He would soon be getting rid of the two idiots, but for now they were loyal and eager.

He heard a knock at the door.

"Enter," He commanded.

The two wizards entered the room, quickly and anxious. Malair was the first to enter, with mop of dark red hair hanging in his face. Darlcor was second, his messy brown hair matching the sparkling brown eyes.

"Report," Voldemort said again for the fourth time that day, with six more times to go. He was able to prevent the boredom from entering his voice, but not able to make himself sound slightly enthusiastic either. Voldemort liked to keep some of his more loyal, and powerful followers motivated. But this time it didn't matter, as the wizards before him were neither promising nor powerful, and even if they were they were currently too clueless to care, or too excited to notice.

"My lord," Malair spoke, bowing with Darlcor rushing to copy his actions. Voldemort felt annoyed as he watched Darlcor scramble around. He was nothing more than a nuisance, and that fact that Malair even bothered to give Darlcor the time of day made him sneer. Malair continued, oblivious to Voldemort's disgust. "We first wish to report our mission went smoothly. The prisoners on the level we were assigned, fled and grabbed the portkeys. They are currently in the holding room of the Manor. All of the prisoners on our level are there, with the exceptions of those who had clearly lost their minds and were no longer of use."

Counting as Voldemort nodded his head, Malair said, "Also, you might be pleased to know we got everyone out before the Aurors arrived. The dementors had ran off somewhere, not bothering us during the raid." Again, Voldemort's interest rose to this statement, that had been reported by every other Deatheater he had met with so far. He would need to look into this curious matter.

"Also, my lord," Malair spoke hesitantly now under Voldemort's penetrating gaze. "There is something you should know..."

Unable to control himself, the fool, Darlcor practically screamed, "We've captured Harry Potter!"

Silence.

"_Excuse me_?" Voldemort hissed so lowly, he surprised himself that it wasn't in Parseltongue.

Jumping to his friend's aid, Malair explained. "My lord, I understand this is a...confusing situation."

"Malair do you _dare _assume I am incapable of understanding what you are telling me?" He pinched his wand between his fingers, a curse on his tongue should his answer need punishment.

"No! No my lord! I would never even think such a thing!" Malair was sweating. "But, I know it is impossible, but it is true. We speak only the truth to you! Harry Potter collapsed only a few feet away from us in Azkaban, and we simply brought him back here. He is in the dungeons as we speak."

It was impossible. _Impossible! _How could Harry Potter - how could he? - just _how_?

"You will leave here," Voldemort addressed Malair and Darlcor, swiftly rising from his chair. "Do not tell _anyone _about Potter, do you understand me?" He locked eyes with Darlcor. "Do. You. Understand?" Darlcor nodded quickly, and Voldemort continued. "Tell the others the reports will have to continue again tomorrow. Are you capable of that?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He left the room, turning right, headed straight for the dungeons. If Potter wasn't there those two idiots would be correctly punished for their misbehavior.

And if Potter was there...then things were_ much_ worse with the Wizarding World than Voldemort had first expected them to be.

**LSS**

Harry opened his eyes with a groan. The groan was neither from his sore muscles and nor was it a result from his stiff back. He was used to that. Instead, it was a release of frustration as he took in his situation. It was the normal response he had when waking up in Azkaban, after all, who wouldn't be frustrated when sentenced to a hell-hole when they were completely innocent? That was something on one got used to.

But as the fog lifted from his head he realized he was completely wrong as to where he was. Which made him feel indescribably uneasy, as the vague dream-like memories from the, what he assumed was, the day before, slowly came back to him, and not all in chronological order.

He _wasn't _in Azkaban?

No.

Of course not.

He could remember fragments.

The walls started to collapse. Falling around him, around everyone, people were screaming in panic. Everyone was going to die, the building was caving in. Concrete rocks flying everywhere.

Only the building wasn't falling to pieces.

It was only the walls.

Exploding.

Because two people had been there. Yes! _People_. Sane, normal, _free_ people. They were casting magic, throwing spells every which way, putting holes in the cells.

And the prisoners weren't screaming in panic.

It was excitement.

And the people causing this all were Deatheaters.

Yes, that was right, Deatheaters, two of them, freeing people.

Freeing Harry.

But not.

Taking him to Voldemort, to another prison.

But that had been his plan, yes? Harry had "fainted" correct? It was the only option to escape.

But if he had faked fainting, why was he waking up disorientated? Had he actually fainted? The last thing he could remember was a portkey? Could he have passed out from such a simple way of transporting?

He was weaker than he originally thought.

Harry brushed his somewhat grimy hair out of his face, taking in his surroundings.

He was in yet another cell, hopefully the last cell he would ever have to see. But surprisingly, it was bigger than Azkaban's, having about eight more feet width and four feet in length. There was a cot, which he had lacked before. Even a facility, a real toilet, was actually present. But there were no windows. Even the cell door in Azkaban had a small see-through space, but with everything else this cell had to offer, he would take it anytime over Azkaban.

He was _really _glad to be out of Azkaban.

...wait a minute. He was _glad _to be _out _of _Azkaban_.

Holy shit, he was _out_.

Harry couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as the situation sunk in.

But (and seemed there was always a but) he didn't know whether to feel frightened or relieved. His "plan" had worked. He was out of Azkaban. In Voldemort's grasp, but out of Azkaban.

It still put a smile on his face though.

He was out! Gone! _Free_!

But his excitement was short-lived as that small four letter word popped into his head.

Not exactly _free _yet, he scolded himself, looking around the cell. Not yet. But soon.

He wasn't going to be rash. If he was going to even have a chance of getting out alive and brand-less of the Deatheater mark, he would need a wand. If some Deatheater came to check up on him before Voldemort even came to see him, he would have a chance. It actually _was _a good chance. No doubt the Dark Lord would even come down to these dungeons himself. He would send his servants to fetch Harry. And the Deatheaters reserved for fetching prisoners from dungeons were going to be far from brilliant. Harry could easily surprise them and physically attack them, hopefully gaining control over their wand in the process.

And to surprise them he would need to be unnoticed somewhere...perhaps in the shadows behind the door? They would have to be disorientated the moment they entered. If they had a trained eye on him, Harry would have no chance. He'd be stunned the moment he leaped towards the person.

And what then?, questioned. You can take on, only, what?, two Deatheaters at the _most_? And the chances of running into a handful of Deatheaters was high.

He bit his lip, considering all his options, which weren't in abundance. He would have to get creative on his navigational techniques through this Manor, which undoubtedly had a few tricks for dealing with those who were trespassing. And which ever creative technique he choose, he would need to make sure it didn't require the use of much energy, which included using very little magic. He was weak, much worse then he thought. And although he loathed being trapped in such a vulnerable state, he had to recognize he wasn't going to be able to do anything extravagant. It was crucial, he would have to be careful. He _did _tend to...go a little overboard sometimes.

Fainting in the middle of a hallway in Voldemort's Manor was an immediate death sentence.

No. He would need a different method. Perhaps he could steal the robes and mask of a Deatheater? Could he slip by enough to get free?

But what was free? Out of this cell? Out of this castle? Out of the Wizarding World? He was still faced with the same problem he had at Azkaban. Once he escaped where would he go?

Suddenly the echoes of footsteps were heard.

He had to think fast.

A Deatheater was going to open the door, that was for certain.

So, was he going to go for the surprise attack? He had never taken anyone down "muggle style" before, but it couldn't be too hard, right? Especially if the person he was taking down was a thick Deatheater goon.

The person was gradually getting closer.

Think, think, think, Harry told himself.

So he has attacked the person. And after that? He'd steal the wand, stun the person, and steal their clothes? What if the robes and mask didn't fit? Harry knew the right shrinking charms, but that seemed like too much magic. He was physically weak, maybe even mentally, and he couldn't remember the last time he ate something decent.

Oh well, the adrenaline would have to make up for all the energy he lost attacking the Deatheater.

Closer, closer, the person came. Harry could almost feel their presence.

He backed up, to what he assumed was the darkest part of the cell, squatting slightly in the back right hand corner, bracing himself.

The footsteps stopped.

It was now, the moment that would decide his fate. The Deatheater was outside the door. At this moment.

Green eyes sparkled in the darkness.

Slowly, the door opened.

**LSS**

Harry had been wrong.

That was all he could think.

The door had opened, and Harry had come _that_ close to attacking the figure that stood in the door-frame.

And Merlin, was he glad he didn't.

Harry straightened himself, and smirked, more so in irony at his horrible luck than the person them-self. "Voldemort, eh? Long time, no see." He stepped backwards and brushed off his robes, taking a dominant posture. His tone did not match his causal words. But the person he addressed didn't respond, standing very still, staring at him through narrow and, dare he think it?, confused eyes. Wanting answers, Harry pushed for a response. "Perhaps you have forgotten how these meetings usually work. You see, the next thing you are suppose to say involves a threat, curse, or at least one of those famous Dark Lord comebacks. You aren't loosing your touch are you?"

But his words still seemed to not even reach Voldemort's ears.

"You see, I was lead to believe you were my good old pal from my Hogwarts days. But, the problem is, you have yet to _attempt _to kill me. Maybe you gave up on those schemes, though? I'm proud, really. Finally you've realized you could never win against me. My my, you've grown."

Harry had to admit, he was having a bit of fun, poking and prodding the Dark Lord. He knew his punishment was soon to come, but there was something extremely satisfying about his whole conversation.

However, why Voldemort had yet to even respond slightly frightened Harry. He had never seen his enemy handle this sort of situation in this manner.

He sighed. "You see, now you're just taking the fun of this whole experience away," Harry admitted, earning a small eyebrow raise from his opponent, which at least let Harry know he had Voldemort's attention. "This would have been _so _much more entertaining had you talked as well. It was rather like insulting a wall, and I've done that enough times in the past years to be tired of it."

There was silence again, and Harry was now frustrated, if anything, that he wasn't being answered. It didn't sit well with his mind that this was his first chance at a conversation with someone since Azkaban, and the person he was talking to refused to speak.

But Harry didn't let his frustration show.

Instead he settled on taking in the new image of Voldemort.

Frankly, it was a little shocking, and he was surprised he hadn't taken an interest in it sooner.

He had hair.

Not just a thin layer either. Thick curls of black locks covered his head.

And that was not the only shocking thing Harry had to take in. He looked...human. He had arching eyebrows, slender cheek bones, and a chin that didn't jut outwards. His skin was still pale, but even in the darkness Harry could tell there was more life. His skin wasn't scale-like, or dead.

But of course, the more important changes were what were _on _the face.

His nose was a distinguishable nose; again, gone were the snake qualities. And just below the nose was a mouth, obviously, and currently it was in the shape of a line, with the only exceptions being the corners, slightly curving down.

But then there were his eyes, which were no longer a glowing red; they had dimmed to a tamer shade, still the same fierce crimson they had been before, but just not _glowing_. They were different, and yet, Harry could still see the ache in his eyes. The war had left its mark on him. It was odd, Harry thought, since he had always assumed Voldemort to be unfazed by the death, torture, and threats war brought...Voldemort had seemed inhuman, and he _had _been for at least a small amount of time, but, Harry now realized, Voldemort was still a person. And he had obviously been through as much, if not more than Harry.

"Potter," The man _finally _ spoke, and Harry could barley keep a relived smile from showing. "Why are you here?"

That hadn't been what he was anticipating. "Now I'm no expert, but I _think _your Deatheaters brought me here from Azkaban." He gave a cheeky shrug. "But what do I know? I'd go ask them for yourself."

And suddenly Harry remembered just who he was talking to as the atmosphere in the cell thickened. "_Potter_," An angered voice hissed. "_Why _were you in Azkaban?" Voldemort's red eyes closed as his hand went to rub his temple. "For Merlin's sake, do tell me you weren't a prisoner there?"

"Are you kidding?" Was all Harry could even think to say as he listened to this nonsense. "Voldemort, I don't know how in tune you are with the Wizarding World seeing as you never venture into it, but I'm fairly sure you've heard that bit of news going around that I was, um, _in _Azkaban, _as _a prisoner, for, oh what was that crime again?, breaking in the Ministry of Magic and supposedly killing Kingsley Shacklebolt and my dear dead uncle? Perhaps you've heard _that? Or maybe _you knew it because you had one of your Deatheaters frame me for it?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and he could feel his own magic reacting, flowing more violently through his veins, or whatever it was that magic ran through – that didn't matter – _this mattered. _Tightening his fist he continued.

"_Or_, and I'm just grasping at straws now, you read about it in the Prophet, which undoubtedly went ecstatic over my sentence? But I _am _sure you've heard it. And hearing you question that, hearing you _ask me _if I was in Azkaban has to be the _most _insulting thing you've ever said to me, and shall I remind you of your previous abusive comments you've made? I wouldn't mind reciting them all for you since I could really use the stalling time considering in about ten seconds, by the time I've finished speaking, you'll be whipping your wand out to kill me. But what do I care? What does anyone care? Kill me Voldemort! Go ahead, make it so no one can ever use that damn Boy Who Lived title again!"

By the end, if it wasn't already obvious, Harry was seething, taking huge breaths, glaring at the man before him. The air around him cracked as he spoke, and he didn't care about how ridiculous he might seem, or how childish he might come off. But Harry dared anyone to be locked up innocent for years in Azkaban, escape via Deatheaters, talk face-to-face with Voldemort himself and be asked if everything he's lived through, everything that had been his life for the past years, had really been there, and _not _combust on the spot.

And if someone could withstand that torment, Harry would bet that they wouldn't be able to if he made them go and live through everything _he_ had to live through since meeting the Dursley's for the first time, withstanding child abuse, befriending fake friends, fighting to the death countless times, being shunned by the entire world, losing the one fatherly figure he could ever come close to having, and then, being betrayed, sentenced to the worst place on Earth...

Oh yes, Harry would win that bet.

Harry spared a glance at the Dark Lord, quietly fuming opposite the cell.

But strangely, and perhaps for the first time, that anger was not originating from Harry.

Still angered, in a gruff voice Harry asked, "Why would you ask me such a question? _Why_?" He couldn't believe he felt it, but he really was insulted.

Voldemort looked him in the eyes, and Harry didn't back down, staring straight back. Voldemort asked, "You truly don't know?"

Curling his fingers into fists he yelled, "Of course not!" He absolutely _loathed _being withheld information concerning him. That would never change.

"Potter," Voldemort spoke slowly in a quiet tone. "You were proven innocent two years ago."

What? He – that – that couldn't be true, could it? Voldemort was surely trying to through him off guard.

"I'm sure I'd know if I hadn't been in Azkaban for two years."

"Stop being foolish," Voldemort hissed at him, taking a step forward causing Harry to take a defensive posture.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, hissing in anger himself. "I haven't had a _life _for, how many years has it been?, _because _ I was locked away in that damn place! _Why _do you keep insisting I wasn't _actually _there?"

Voldemort continued to be lost in his own thoughts, studying Harry.

"Goddamnit, answer me!" Harry seethed through gritted teeth.

"I've already told you, and you refuse to listen. You _weren't _there, at least not in Ministry records or the public's minds."

"What does that mean?" Harry questioned, not caring this was Voldemort he was talking too, a person he never once had a civilized conversation with, a person he never relied on for information. But again, Voldemort had changed, _Harry _had changed, and whatever was going on was apparently forcing them together, or at the very least Harry, to find out what was happening, why he was apparently free, and what happened before, in the huge mess that circulated his sentence.

"It means," Voldemort responded, a malicious, yet curious, twinkle sparkling in his eyes, and it seemed he, too, might have forgotten who he was speaking with. "This war just got a little more interesting."

* * *

**A/N**: I had a hard time deciding how to write this ending scene. I kind-of wanted to write it from Voldemort's perspective since he seems slightly out of character when it's Harry's point of view...but I decided to keep it the way I did since it leaves more room for answers in the next chapter.

And this will be the last time I say it, just so I don't sound too repetitive. Please don't think I'm not aware of what I previously wrote and that I am not writing things just for the hell of it. There are no plot holes in this story. Everything will be resolved at some point. If you have a question, or if you think I've overseen a detail, even if it's something small, just wait a few chapters and everything will fall into place.

Trust me on this, I've looked over everything a dozen times, and counting.

**Tell me if you want more in Voldemort's point of view. **Or should I stick with Harry, only adding Voldemort in every once n a while to strengthen the character and add more?

Do you want the scene I just wrote re-written form Voldemort's perspective?

Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or The Bells.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know, long update, I'm sorr- wait, you know what, no I'm not. I'm busy, I'm tired - so screw you all for not being patient.

I had just wanted that quick little message, but this needs to be said:

Thank you for your feedback! Really, thanks.

Okay, we had a lot of mixed feelings about the Harry/Voldemort perspectives. I have a few different ways for you guys to see both perspectives for certain scenes while still moving the story forward in interesting ways, and I will also make sure to alternate between both characters. Overall, though, there _will _be more Harry than Voldemort.

Here's where I promote my other story. I'm writing a different slash between these very same two characters in my story _And Then There Were Eight_, and this story also shifts, but each chapter the point of view is changed from Harry to Voldemort or vise versa. Not many chapters are up yet but if you check in on it in a few weeks the new Voldemort chapter will be up.

**Important**: I had two people ask me about the time setting in this story. I've said it before, but here's a reminder: Harry was sent to Azkaban during summer after fifth year, before his birthday, so he was fifteen when he was locked up. Three years later he was broken out. He is now eighteen.

And with all that said, please enjoy!

* * *

**In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Chapter Four

* * *

**

_In the silence of the night,_

_How we shiver with affright_

_At the melancholy menace of their tone!_

-**The Bells, Edgar Allen Poe

* * *

**

**Previously**:

_"What does that mean?" Harry questioned, not caring this was Voldemort he was talking too, a person he never once had a civilized conversation with, a person he never relied on for information. But again, Voldemort had changed, Harry had changed, and whatever was going on was apparently forcing them together, or at the very least Harry, to find out what was happening, why he was apparently free, and what happened before, in the huge mess that circulated his sentence._

_"It means," Voldemort responded, a malicious, yet curious, twinkle sparkling in his eyes, and it seemed he, too, might have forgotten who he was speaking with. "This war just got a little more interesting."_

**LSS**

There was little for Harry to say, but everything for him to think. Questions piled up inside his mind to such an extent that bundled together they were useless to ask, for the person in front of him also lacked the answers, and had the same build up of wasteful thoughts in his own head. However, even knowing it was a waste of energy, he kept forming knew questions, though not daring to voice any of them.

Except one, which in all fairness, did not relate to any of the others, and more so related to the current situation. "Where are you taking me?"

His voice echoed through the crumbling brick tunnel which was the prison cells of the Dark Manor, only being accompanied by the echoes of his and Voldemort's footsteps as they traveled further and further away from the cell Harry had previously woken in.

"A more suitable place to discuss this rather unanticipated turn of events."

"That isn't much of an answer," Harry said.

"Well perhaps more of your questions will be answered once we are located in a more suitable place." Voldemort said, and turned his head slightly so Harry could see his raised eyebrow. He himself humorously rolled his eyes at Voldemort's back, amused from the Dark Lord's behavior, facing the fact he'd have to wait until he was in a sound-proof sealed room until he could talk.

Funny, really, Harry thought. This decreased his chances of surviving, and yet, that usual dreading feeling wasn't quite sinking in this time. It was odd, Harry thought, realizing it had been a little too long for him to go without running a few more escape plans through his mind. He should probably have been worried that his instincts weren't reacting to this obviously dangerous situation, but the fatigue that instead consumed him made him not give a damn. So he relished in the fact he was not yet dead, or being tortured, and continued following Voldemort.

After passing many doorways, empty corridors, and twisting and turning around so much Harry could have sworn they made a circle before arriving, they entered what Harry assumed to be the dinning room. Narrow windows draped in deep purple curtains lined against the right side of the wall, ten feet long and fifteen feet from the ground. Harry assumed the windows would usually be the source for light, but since they were currently covered by the curtains, the chandelier provided the light. The floor was wooden; dark and elegantly polished. The walls were painted in a soft eggshell white.

But of course the main attraction in the room was the old fashion rectangular table, stretching to at least thirty feet, being as wide as at least six. From what Harry could tell the table was made of a similar wood as the floor, but he could only judge from the shadowed legs as a white table cloth covered the rest. Seventeen chairs circled the table, eight on one side, eight on the other, and the head chair at the far end, which Voldemort was now sitting in.

"Well," Voldemort addressed. "Take a seat."

Harry slowly walked to a chair on the end and stood behind it for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on it while he bit his lip. And then, in a swift movement, he locked eyes with Voldemort, grabbed the back of the chair with his hand, and swung the chair around so it sat at the end of the table, opposite of Voldemort, like an equal. Voldemort's stare pierced his own but Harry only said, "I'm not one of your servants, Voldemort. I'm not going to sit at your side like one."

"You continue to annoy and impress me, Potter."

Harry smirked and leaned back in the chair. "Was that a compliment?"

"We'll see."

"Fair enough." Harry turned serious. "So tell me, what's been going on in the Wizarding World?"

Voldemort's face turned cold. "Quite a lot."

"Again, that isn't much of an answer."

Voldemort smiled slightly, but was soon frowning again as he started to speak. Harry prepared himself for a long story. Voldemort began.

"After...your trial there was chaos. You see, people hadn't known about your sentence until _after _you were in Azkaban. For some reason the press was kept out of the loop, so to speak. They had tried to get into your trial, but obviously failed. They hadn't even known it _was _your trial, they just knew it was something big, and they wanted to know more. It was...unfortunate. You can only imagine the confusion when the headline of the Sunday paper read Potter in Azkaban with no explanation as to _why _you were there."

Harry ignored the bubbling in his stomach as he listened. "And _why_ was it so secretive?"

"We'll get to that." Voldemort leaned back in his chair. "Although the papers had some people riled up, none of them offered any real information. It was all opinions and guesses. And you can understand that some of the writers on the Prophet can be tend to exaggerate as well...it's hard to say what had people more upset, the fact you were in Azkaban, or the lies the Prophet said about _why_ you were there."

The look Harry had was enough to say he agreed, knowing how far out of control the Prophet had gotten in his past.

"Surprisingly," Voldemort went on. "The evidence and reasons for your sentence were released to the press only a few days later. Whether this was unintentional or not still remains unknown. After all, the press _was _purposefully kept out of your trial. They were kept away from this information for some reason, but since they acquired this information only a few days the reason for why they were kept from it originally is still a mystery."

"So how did they get the information?"

"Anyone could have given it to them...the Minister, someone in attendance at your trial, even your friends may have talked with the Prophet for the right price."

Harry grimaced as Voldemort said "friends" as a pang of hurt and anger hit him as he remembered their betrayal. Harry wondered if Hermione and the twins still had faith in Harry's innocence after he was locked away. He would need to find that information out later. Who else, Harry wondered, had believed in him? "How did everyone react?"

Voldemort seemed to have been expecting this. "Thousands of people had read past the lies of the Prophet. But once the real information was out almost everyone who had rallied and supported your innocence then believed you should rot away in Azkaban for the rest of eternity. They were sickened, and throughout the year the papers ridiculed you. Even the Quibbler, which I understand you relied on during your fifth year for non-biased articles, didn't believe your innocence, though I will give credit that once they released the information there were no articles that mocked you."

Harry had his chin resting on his hand, lost in his terrible thoughts. "Was there anyone you know of who didn't think I belonged in Azkaban?"

The tense sound of silence filled the room until Voldemort quietly answered, "No."

Harry didn't say anything, even though he was still wondering if there was anyone out there who quietly believed him. Voldemort didn't have eyes _everywhere_, right? Harry also silently wondered what the Deatheaters thoughts and, even, what Voldemort thought. But that could wait until later.

"Let's get to the more important details, shall we?" Voldemort asked, giving Harry a look of uncertainty. "We should focus on why you even had a trial."

"Of course," Harry said. "Who do you think framed me?"

Harry was surprised when he saw a hesitant look quickly flash across Voldemort's face. "You can imagine there are many different...possibilities." Harry immediately felt intrigued. "But it all narrows down to the few people who knew the details in your life."

Harry could practically read Voldemort's mind. "Because they targeted certain things in my life that required knowing specific information." It made sense, after all, since whoever attacked him knew about the guards outside Privet Drive, and about a second Prophecy with his name on it.

"Preciously." Voldemort agreed. "And these people, who could have known that information, are the Order of the Phoenix members and a few Deatheaters."

"Do you know anything more specific?" Harry urged, feeling frustrated that he wasn't getting direct answers. "Any people? Any motives? _Anything_?"

Voldemort also looked frustrated. "It's likely an Order member framed you, but it's more likely a Deatheater accidentally framed you."

"What rubbish are you going on about?"

"I think either a group of Deatheaters or just one planned to kill you and failed. They might have done this to be praised or just because they hate you. And they could have killed your guard, and your uncle, just to get to you."

Harry sat back and studied Voldemort. "And the Department of Mysteries?"

"They must have known about the Prophecy, which many of my Deatheaters had information on. They probably took you there to have known what the prophecy said. Probably knowing that once you were gone no one could ever acquire the information sealed inside the Prophecy."

"And if the Deatheaters did take me, why didn't they kill me after they heard the Prophecy, assuming they _did _hear it?"

"Something must have interrupted them and scared them off. Or the Prophecy was all they, or him, needed." Voldemort sighed. "Once they were scared off, or for whatever reason they left, they probably went back to Privet Drive to make it look like you killed the two people so nothing could be traced back to them. However if it truly was a Deatheater, or a group of them, they're gone. A few of them disappear every few years, either by death or by fear. The remaining ones have already been checked by me, and they're memories show they couldn't have done anything."

"Can't you figure out who it is by who has run away? Doesn't that prove they did it? Running away from you as soon as they messed up?" Harry felt desperate.

"Well, there are...complications."

Harry felt enraged. "What the fuck is that suppose to mean, Voldemort? Are they, or are they not, _your _servants? Do they not work for you? Shouldn't you _know_?"

The stare Voldemort had could have burned a hole through solid steel. "I appreciate you are feeling frustrated, but you will _not _insult me. If a Deatheater did frame you, there are ways to identify them, but those ways do not include guessing and checking. It involves narrowing down and forming a conclusion. But there are many people to go through – not just runaway Deatheaters but their families, their friends, people who would work with them."

Harry sighed. "Do you have _any_ idea who it was?"

"Several. But that's the problem. The same goes for the Order members. And they are harder to check off via process of elimination."

"Okay," Harry said. "So there's not a good chance of knowing who killed Vernon and Kingsley and knowing who kidnapped me anytime soon. But in my mind, there are worst things than a Deatheater framing me. The real question is why Dumbledore protested against me and why I wasn't set free after my innocence was proven. Could the Aurors sent to free me have lied about it? Maybe they still thought I was a threat and secretly kept me locked up?"

Voldemort shook his head. "There were two Aurors, four Healers, and Rufus Scrimgeour, the minister that succeeded Fudge. I can't say in detail what happened once they left for Azkaban, but they obviously didn't return with you."

Harry sat frozen. "Who did they return with?"

"Most likely no one."

Harry let the information sink in. He tried to not let this bother him, but it was hard. These seven people left to get him out of Azkaban. He could have been a free man two years ago. It stung a little to talk about what happened that prevented him from being freed, and it hurt even more that he still didn't know who caused it all. Harry wasn't ready to give up, though. "What about the Healers and Aurors? Couldn't they be responsible? Hell, even the...former Minister. Think about it, Voldemort. That's seven people. Seven fucking people who _could _have done something. Seven people who are probably the most likely suspects to, well, _suspect_."

Voldemort disagreed, shaking his head. "None of them are to blame for the failed attempt of retrieving you. None of them had motives. Half of them didn't even have the brains to plan something. Besides, the six people that accompanied Scrimgeour were right under his thumb, why else would he choose them to go with him? And Scrimgeour wasn't responsible. I think they all truly believe they went to Azkaban and brought you back. I had a few Legilimens even be on the site when they returned. Inside each of their heads was a fake planted memory, the real one blocked by very strong magic."

"So you think _all _they're memories were modified?" Harry asked disbelieved. It was inconceivable. Seven exceptionally powerful wizards attacked...on a boat too! Because it couldn't have happened on Azkaban island unless the magical ward was down, and hundreds of people back in the Ministry would have been alerted when that happened. And Harry voiced his skepticism. "All modified by one person who happened to sneak invisible on the boat to Azkaban and attack seven wizards successfully?"

"It's a...possibility."

Harry looked at Voldemort in astonishment. "And it's out of the question that the Minister attacked everyone? I haven't even met this Rufus Scrimgeour, but I'm thinking he's not much better than Fudge. He could have modified his own memory! So you can understand why I'm a little unclear on why your certain that he isn't the one behind this all. After all, he's in charge, he went with the group to Azkaban, he told the world I was free and hiding out somewhere. He's full of bullshit, so why are you trusting him?"

Again, Voldemort said, "He's not responsible."

Harry slammed a hand into the table, sick of the short answers he was receiving. "And how are you so damn sure!?"

"He's currently dead."

That got Harry quiet and thinking. "Just because he's dead doesn't mean he isn't responsible."

"He's dead," Voldemort explained, "because his mind was broken. I went through his mind, and I got to work trying to break the barrier that contained the memory of the night he supposedly got you out of Azkaban. But someone had put a spell on him very similar to the Obliviate but much stronger...and getting to even a memory that was been magically sealed by an Obliviate is difficult, and possibly fatal if attempted by the person who had not originally cast the spell."

"And you killed him trying to get to that memory, why am I not surprised?"

"Not trying," Voldemort corrected with a smirk on his face.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So you watched the blocked memory? And then, what? You just killed the Minister? Now, I'm no expert at this, but aren't there better ways to deal situations like that? Ways that don't involved _killing the Minister_?"

Voldemort waved the comment away. "He had to go anyway. The fact he contained the memory was a bonus. It was, how do you say it?, like killing two birds with a stone?"

Ignoring the muggle saying coming from the all powerful – "muggles must die" slogan – Dark Lord, Harry waited a few minutes, thinking there would be more to that comment, but when Voldemort continued to say nothing Harry looked at him expectantly. "And _why _did he need to go?"

"That's a conversation for another day." Although Harry didn't know if Voldemort picked that word choice purposefully, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he'd be having more conversations with Voldemort in the future. And he couldn't help but wonder if that was good or bad.

Harry sighed frustrated. "Okay so what was in the memory?"

"Not much. The memory of when Scrimgeour was attacked was blacked out. The memory itself is dark, fuzzy, and contains no names or faces. The only useful information was the person who attacked them is powerful enough to cast non-verbal curses."

Harry balled his fists. He was getting tired at receiving half answers. "How do you even know it was a non-verbal spell? Maybe Scrimgeour didn't hear the person because they were too far away. Maybe someone cursed his hearing and he was deaf?"

Voldemort looked slightly surprised. "Those are...clever alternatives." Harry ignored the unusual jump that came to his stomach when he heard the comment. "However be reminded the party was on a boat when they left to retrieve you. They is hardly extra space. And if Scrimgeour could hear everything else perfectly fine. His hearing was not affected before, after, or during the attack."

Harry held his temple, going over all the information piling up in his head. "So how many Deatheaters and Order members can cast non-verbal spells? How many people have we narrowed down?"

"About sixteen. I know five of the eight Deatheaters that ran away can't, and half the people in the Order of the Phoenix can't." Voldemort sighed quietly. "However that still leaves approximately twenty people."

"Maybe there's too much focus going into the attack. Who was the person who told everyone I was in hiding? That lie had to have started somewhere, from _someone_. Can't whoever have said that be a person involved?"

Voldemort shook his head in his own frustration, "The person who said it _was _the former minister. And he said he got his information from you. He's obviously lying, but he doesn't know he's lying." Voldemort was silent, but Harry could tell the man was still talking. Minutes passed, and Harry, ready to collapse from weariness, jumped when Voldemort asked, "What about Dumbledore?"

Harry could see where this was going. "What about him?"

"Now as refreshing as I find it for you to sound bitter when his name is mentioned, there is good chance he's the reason you staid in Azkaban. He is the most likely person, after all. He would benefit the most from your imprisonment."

"Why would he?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "There's an abundance of answers to that question, Potter, where would you like me to start?"

Harry glared at him.

"Have you not realized what he views you as yet?" Voldemort asked, disbelieved. "He doesn't see you as a star student, he doesn't see you as a grandson. He sees you as an object that can help him gain, and keep, political power. As long as you see him as a savior, he influences your actions."

The dark circles under Harry's eyes seemed more pronounced as he kept a thick and heavy stare on the table. Voldemort continued.

"My theory is that Dumbledore wanted to be the one to come and get you out of Azkaban. He wanted to be the crutch in your life, and as long as you were a little unstable and had your memories worn away like most people in Azkaban, he would have been the puppet-master, controlling your movements and thoughts.

"Now, he probably assumed you'd be in Azkaban for longer than two years. Whether he framed you or not, he knew you'd eventually be proven innocent. But since your name was cleared so soon for such a serious crime, Dumbledore was in trouble. Two years in Azkaban wouldn't have completely broken your mind down as to forget that _he _was the person who was responsible for you being there. He needed you to be in Azkaban longer for his plans to succeed."

Harry was still staring at the table. His voice was monotone. "So he kept me there."

"Yes," Voldemort looked at him. "You do understand what this means?"

"I don't see how you can be so sure," Harry spoke, avoiding all eye contact. "You only find out today that I wasn't actually in Azkaban, and suddenly you voice all these theories you wouldn't have if you hadn't found out." Harry swallowed the thick and bitter lump in his throat, sparing a quick glance at the man in front of him.

Voldemort, for the first time since entering the dinning room, was not looking at Harry. He staid silent for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, Voldemort said, "I think you agree with me."

Harry irritatedly rubbed his forehead before resting his head on his hand. He didn't know what to believe. Everything was happening too fast.

"Of course I don't _trust _Dumbledore," Harry finally said through gritted teeth. "Of course I'm enraged by what he's done to me. But that doesn't mean I trust _you_. Not everyone has to choose between supporting you or supporting Dumbledore!"

Voldemort raised his volume with every word. "This isn't about choosing sides in a war!" Harry was instantly reminded of the Voldemort he was used to seeing – the dark and dangerous man that didn't understand what the word mercy meant. "It's the only logically option we have right now, or do you want to ignore the fact that either Dumbledore wants control of you, or someone else wants you gone?"

"Maybe you've forgotten that _many _people want me gone! I'm no stranger to living in constant fear! And that's mainly because of _you_!" Harry was out of his chair, his hands on the table, shoulders curved back. "Goddammit – you – have – no – idea."

"_Sit down_."

Harry remained standing, but inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself with the fresh, rust-scent free air. "I think _I'm_ going to keep my options open." He stressed the "I" to remind Voldemort he was not working with him, and that there was no "we" involved.

Calmly Voldemort spoke, "I think that's enough for today." Harry, still standing, felt out of place. He didn't know what to expect Voldemort to say next. He had irritated, insulted, and disagreed with a murderer and yet he was still alive. Voldemort's next move could be wither a stunner or a Crucio. Harry braced himself for both.

Waiting for the worse to come, Harry's heart skipped a beat when a loud _pop _sounded through the room. More than startled, Harry's head jerked to the direction of the sound.

A house-elf stood to the left of Voldemort. She had long ears, bulging sapphire eyes, and, surprisingly, wore a black chef's outfit. "Is the Master ready for dinner?"

"Yes, bring it forth."

Harry watched amazed as two more house-elves, in similar outfits, appeared, with huge platters they set on the table. Harry had sat back on the chair, and was thankful to find his mouth had not dropped open as he watched the food be placed before him. The house-elves dissapparated and Voldemort looked at Harry amused. "Had you thought I'd starve you?"

Harry said nothing. Not really sure what he was expecting out of this "new" Voldemort. Finally finding his voice Harry simply said, "Not starved, just not stuffed." Harry once again eyed the platters. In front of him were three bowls of soup, all different kinds, with garlic crescent bread on the sides, all accompanied with an arrangement of vegetables. It was the perfect meal for someone who hadn't eaten well in four years. Harry looked at Voldemort again.

Voldemort's eyes scanned Harry, making him uneasy under the watchful stare. "Eat."

Harry still didn't know what to think. Why was Voldemort doing this? Guarded he asked, "Why should I?"

Voldemort looked like it was obvious. "You need regain your health."

"I don't see why you care," Harry said with venom in his voice. "My views on the Wizarding World have changed, and yes, I will admit my views have changed on you. That doesn't erase the past though. And it sure as hell doesn't explain why you suddenly want me healthy, much less _alive_."

Voldemort spoke with more anger than before. "Perhaps, Potter, if you can see through your increasingly thick head, my views have changed as well."

"Why do I doubt that?" He said quietly and hard.

"Why do you?" Voldemort responded in the same voice, his red eyes once more piercing Harry's. Harry found himself once again finding the need to speak.

"I know you Voldemort," Harry stated, taking the challenge of the staring contest. "I've had to constantly deal with you since I heard your name for the first time before starting my first year at Hogwarts. I've fought you, I've been inside your mind, I've seen your real side, the side that isn't an act for the Deatheaters. I've seen you defenseless, scared, and vulnerable. I think by now I know how you think. And knowing you as I do, your views haven't changed."

Harry watched as the man before him smirked. "It seems, you don't know me as well as you think you do. Because, Potter, I have decided not to kill you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He didn't know if he could trust Voldemort, hell, if he learned anything about the dark wizard it was to _never _trust him. But...did he really have a choice? Besides, he didn't want to push Voldemort any further.

"Well that's a start, I suppose."

Voldemort's lips twitched. "With that said, I assure you, the food is not poisoned, but it is getting cold."

Harry eyed a bowl of soup once more. His bony hands shook as he held the spoon up to his mouth. Words couldn't describe how good it tasted. "Ah, how I've longed for a decent meal."

The two ate in silence, and by the time Harry was nearing the end of the second bowl of soup he made the mistake of locking eyes with Voldemort, for it seemed the man had something he wanted to say, and Harry triggered him to voice it by that action.

"Before," The dark wizard started in a curious manner. "You mentioned you first heard my name right before your first year of Hogwarts?"

Harry dropped his spoon into the bowl, almost cringing as it clinked and clanked in the silence. "Yes..." Harry said, hoping with every fiber of his being that this conversation was not going to lead to him reveling to _Voldemort _his horrible childhood with the Dursleys. Even thinking about those disgraceful muggles made Harry want to snarl.

But of course he didn't, because Voldemort's expression erased all anger, and filled him with slight fear for what ask would say next.

"You...hadn't heard the name before?"

Hoping to exit this topic Harry rolled his eyes with heavy sarcasm. "I think we've established that already."

Voldemort ignored his attempt. "What about when you learned of your parents' deaths? Wouldn't you have heard my name then?"

Not feeling comfortable spilling his childhood abuse secrets just yet, Harry turned serious, and quietly stated, "I think we've went over enough of my past today." Fully expected to have his mind invaded, an Imperio shouted at him, or at the very least a protest made, Harry was thrown off guard when Voldemort agreed. "Then you should get rest. I daresay you have suffered an unhealthy amount of insomnia in Azkaban."

Harry would have dropped his spoon again in surprise had he been holding it. But he gladly welcomed the change of topic with open arms. "So where are you going to store me? Back in that cell?"

"Follow me."

**LSS**

As soon as Potter saw the room Voldemort knew he was surprised. The room had a green color scheme. The floor was wooden, the walls painted a dark green with. The two windows had white curtains hanging from them. Within the room there was a king-sized bed, desk, walk-in closet, bathroom, and shelves of books.

Voldemort said, "Not much of a cell, is it?"

He turned to look at the young wizard before him. Emerald eyes looked at him in confusion. Voldemort didn't blame him; even he was surprising himself. Who knew he'd ever be treating Potter, the person that always insulted and gone against him, with better treatment than the people who complimented and served him. It was...odd.

"No," Potter said, turning to look him in the eyes. He was the only one who willingly did, anymore. "Why isn't it?"

"I thought we made it clear we weren't enemies?"

"But we aren't in an alliance – "

"That doesn't mean we can't be civil, or would you prefer to continue sleeping on a cold dungeon floor?" Not that Voldemort would permit it to happen if the stubborn wizard agreed. Even a mindless muggle could see that Potter needed serious treatment. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair grimy, his body thin. Even as he walked Voldemort could see him struggle to lift his legs for each step.

Potter smiled bitterly at him. "I'll stay."

Voldemort was glad that Potter was at least thinking with some sense. "There are showers in the bathroom, I suggest you take a look at them." Potter glared at him and Voldemort smirked. "Well if you want to be covered in fifth when you meet some old friends tomorrow don't shower and instead – "

Potter interrupted him. "Excuse me?"

Voldemort kept his eyes on the young wizard, curious to his reaction. Har- Potter's shoulders were tense, and the years of Azkaban surfaced as a shadow Voldemort had never witnessed crossed over the wizard's face. "None of your school friends," Voldemort assured, knowing well they were most certainly not his friends anymore.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "I don't think it's best for me to see people right now. Perhaps you've forgotten from whence I came."

That irritating sarcasm was back. "Only two people. They can help." Voldemort reassured.

At least that bit of information would keep Potter curious. But the truth was Voldemort didn't think Har- Potter would be able to handle the two people he planed on meeting with. At least not yet, the way he looked, acted, and undoubtedly felt. He was physically and maybe even mentally exhausted. Thought it was extraordinarily amazing, really, that he his mental health hadn't been worn down in Azkaban.

But Potter had always been strong.

In that irritatingly stubborn way.

But Voldemort had to admit, it took a lot to bring the young wizard down.

And then a thought quickly crossed his mind as he exited and closed the door to Potter's room, which made him feel slightly odd (the way those kind of thoughts usually made one feel), as something he would never consciously think entered his head.

_And nothing should dare try to bring Harry down again.

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_

**A/N**: Snuggling in the next chapter. Be prepared.


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter Series or any material written by Franz Kafka.

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**A/N**: I'm sorry, I left on a terrible cliffhanger. If it was me, I'd be furious with myself for not updating my story so I could read it. Yeah, I'm so mad I'm writing nonsense.

Here's the long waited chapter. It's a little choppy. And, er, did I say there would be snuggling last time? My mistake, sorry, really (but I think I might have made up for it on the last page, don't you dare scroll down and read ahead!). I tried to write it in, I did. I wanted it to be longer, anyway. It just didn't work. But good news is the story will be longer!

He, he. There are probably some angry people right now, or at least there will be later if they skipped over this message and discover my lie once they finish reading. Perhaps I should have apologized in bold to capture their attention? Ah well.

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**In The Light But Surrounded By Shadows**

**Chapter Five

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**

"– _and this time I discovered that the boy was indeed ill. In his right side, near the hip, was an open wound as big as the palm of my hand. Rose-red, in many variations of shade, dark in the hollows, lighter at the edges, softly granulated, with irregular clots of blood, open as a surface mine to the daylight. That was how it looked from a distance. But on a closer inspection there was another complication. I could not help a low whistle of surprise. Worms, as thick and as long as my little finger, themselves rose-red and blood-spotted as well, were wriggling from their fastness in the interior of the wound towards the light, with small white heads and many little legs. Poor boy, you were past helping. I had discovered your great wound; this blossom in your side was destroying you."_

**-Franz Kafka, the Complete Stories, A Country Doctor (223)

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**

**Previously:**

_But Voldemort had to admit, it took a lot to bring the young wizard down._

_And then a thought quickly crossed his mind as he exited and closed the door to Potter's room, which made him feel slightly odd (the way those kind of thoughts usually made one feel), as something he would never consciously think entered his head._

_And nothing should dare try to bring Harry down again._

**LSS**

It was all just too weird.

What was Voldemort playing at? Being civil, giving him a room, being _civil_. Harry felt like he had entered a new universe, like Azkaban was a doorway from one bizarre place to the next.

And Harry knew some of his nerves should be settled, he knew that. His one main enemy didn't seem much of an enemy at this point. But that left Harry vulnerable. He didn't know what to expect next. The only reason he could think of, for why Voldemort was being so _nice_, was because he wanted to use Harry. Butter him up, then send him off to do Merlin knows what.

He just had to play along. But like he had said the previous day, he _knew _Voldemort. The man was as manipulating as Dumbledore. He could easily mess with someone's head. Harry had to be prepared. Play along, but always stay one step ahead so he couldn't fall pawn into Voldemort's chess games.

Harry grimaced slightly as he put on the new set of robes found in his closet. They were plain, oddly enough, just black. Probably Voldemort's mind games again. Giving Harry robes that wouldn't force a new personality on him, making him trust Voldemort unconsciously. Clever, Tom, Harry thought. But not clever enough.

But he couldn't help but feel refreshed in the new set of clothes. Being clean was a whole new appreciation Harry was starting to have. He had taken Voldemort's suggestion (because he wanted to, not because he had to) and got himself a shower the night before. He must have staid under the hot streams of water for half an hour before he even picked up the bar of soap. And as soon as he finished and dried off he got in again, not wanting to shake off the feeling of cleanliness by sleeping in a Deatheater bed.

He may not be on any certain side of the war, yet, but he couldn't suddenly forgive the deeds of the Deatheaters. He was angry at the entire wizarding world and it would take time until he found trust in any one person, let alone an entire _side_.

Which made him even more nervous about what would happen later that day. Before, Voldemort, the bastard, left saying he'd meet two people today, without even giving Harry a hint as to who he meant!

And saying Harry "would meet" two people – argh, Harry wasn't a child! Things weren't decided for him. He didn't have to meet people if he didn't want to, especially after Azkaban, after every fucking person turned on him.

He was in a very bitter mood.

When Voldemort came things didn't improve.

He asked him if he received breakfast from the house elf, Melva, and if he ate it (again, he wasn't a child!). He asked if he took the nutrient potion (as if he cared). And he asked about how he was feeling (like it would have mattered if he was horribly depressed and ill).

And then Voldemort took him to meet the two mystery people, and they didn't say anything, walking in silence. (**A/N**: I hate notes in the middle of a story, but sorry I rushed this part. It just didn't want to be written, and I couldn't stall the update any more.)

When Voldemort opened the door and Harry immediately recognized the two men before him.

"Oh, no. I'm not going to be in the same room as these assholes!" Harry said through gritted teeth, wishing he had a wand to curse the men before him.

They both looked the same from when he last saw them. Severus Snape still had the hooked nose, sallow skin, and greasy hair. Lucius Malfoy still looked liked he had a permanent stench stuck in his nose. No matter how much time had passed, three years or not, Azkaban or no Azkaban, Harry still disliked these men. Why was he "to meet" them today?

"Harry," Voldemort said. "They helped to – "

"Make my life miserable?" Harry finished for him, not taking his glare of the greasy haired potions master or the blonde haired git. "I mean, come on, at least _you _- " he turned to Voldemort - "had a reason, with the prophecy... Snape here based his actions off some stupid grudge he had with my dad, and Malfoy is just a prick." But as soon as Harry said that he realized something; he had just compared Snape and Malfoy to the _Dark Lord Voldemort _and made Voldemort come out with the better end of the stick! What was his wrong with him?

All three men in the room caught that as well and gave him an odd look. Harry didn't know what to say, and luckily Voldemort spoke. "It's because of these two men that you are innocent."

"Wh -what?" Harry asked, regaining himself quickly. "No, that can't be right." He narrowed his eyes. "Yesterday, I asked you if you knew of anyone who had believed me of being innocent, and you said you didn't know of anyone."

"Jumping to conclusions, as always," Snape said, his gaze looming over Harry like a very annoying shadow. "You don't have to believe someone is innocent to help prove that they are. But, for the record Potter, you are many things, but not a murderer."

Harry turned to look at Voldemort, asking again, "You told me everyone thought I was guilty."At that current point in time, a few days after your trial, I hadn't believed of anyone thinking you were innocent. Later, though," He shared a look with Snape, not helping Harry's state of confusion, "Well, I found out there were people who believed in you. I could have told you yesterday, but it wasn't the right time." He ignored the glare Harry was giving him. "A month passed, when someone came to me. Someone who will remain nameless currently considering they wanted to be here themselves to tell you but couldn't make it until tomorrow, so you will find out then." Again! How much information concerning him was going to be a mystery? It was his eleventh birthday all over again.

Voldemort continued. "This person was convinced that your Azkaban issue wasn't going away anytime soon, and came to me for help. Once we started to gather people who could help clear your name, I found there were a few who didn't necessarily believe in your sentence."

"You see, Potter," Snape said. "Anyone who ever met you, and who wasn't under the Order of Phoenix's thumb, could clearly see you were innocent. All it took was persuading the Ministry to see that."

Suddenly it clicked in Harry's mind. "You faked the evidence to get me out?"

"Very good, it seems you have a functioning brain after all. Odd enough it only took four years of Azkaban, seeming as it would usually do the opposite to someone. But that's always been your specialty, hasn't it?"

Harry kept his face calm, but looked Snape in the eye, hoping the man could read his thoughts, as he imagined some cruel and unpleasant things about him.

Lucius Malfoy started to speak, oddly polite. Harry supposed it was Voldemort's presence. "With two Master occulemens, a potions master, and wizard with enough gold to buy the ministry and its employees, Mr. Potter, anything is possible."

Curious, Harry asked, "What did you do?"

"It started slow," Malfoy said. "Every week, for about two months, I gave a...generous donation to the Ministry." Harry didn't want to imagine how much gold was given up. "It's all about leverage and control. It was because of this that we kept Dumbledore out of the trial."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He underestimated how much influence Malfoy had, but he wondered if Dumbledore kept as much as a hold on the Ministry as he had a month prior, during Harry's trial. He couldn't have become any more popular once Harry, _his star student_, went to Azkaban. All the more proof Dumbledore wasn't the cause of the trial, but still left suspicious for the reason he staid in Azkaban. Like Voldemort had said, he might have wanted to control Harry once his mind was completely gone to gain more political control.

Snape started to speak. "The only thing left to do was to find a wizard, Macnair in this case, and plant false memories in their head. Usually that task is not easily accomplished, but with two wizards experienced in the art of legilimency, it was at least possible. We planted bits and fragments of you being knocked out, carried away, and taken to the department of mysteries. And, of course, we gave him the memories of murdering Kingsley Shacklebolt and Vernon Dursley. Since Macnair had experience killing in cold blood, those memories were easily absorbed into these fake ones, making it all that much more realistic. It wasn't perfect, it took a long amount of time for the Ministry to decide you _were innocent_, but it was obviously good enough."

"And that _worked_?" Harry asked in disbelief. "If the system is so easily broken then wh– "

"It was not easy," Snape interrupted, his eyes narrow. "I had to feed him constant, complicated potions to make he didn't loose his mind in the process. Some of those potions took a year to make, some many months, but all of them constant care. Less then three percent of wizards in the world can complete the potions I've used, let alone use legilimency with someone as powerful as the Dark Lord on a _willing _victim."

"Willing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy smirked. "You'd be surprised at how many people volunteer to go to Azkaban for the Dark Lord."

"But he would have gone to Azkaban anyway," Snape said. "A week prior to this set-up, he ran off on his own, found a small muggle town, and made eleven inhabitants go insane from the Cruciatus Curse. This also helped with our cause because the Ministry was already angered with him, they believed anything else bad associated with his name."

Harry absorbed the information, with just one more question itching to be asked. "Why? Why do all of this work to get me, of all people, out of Azkaban? _Why?_" _Because you're using me? _Harry thought, giving the men a penetrating stare, not looking right in the eyes, mind you, he didn't forget about legilimency these men used, and the knowledge and practice he, himself, lacked in. If they avoided the answer, Harry could assume he was right. _Why else hide the truth?_

Malfoy and Snape both exchanged glances before both turning to look at Voldemort, and Harry had to keep from rolling his eyes in frustration. He _hated _when people did that in front of him. It was incredibly obvious they were hiding something. And he was now just about certain his suspicions had been confirmed. They _were _using him.

For the first time in a few years he felt a rage fill him.

"I think," Voldemort started, sending Malfoy and Snape away. "That question is better left answered on another day."

**LSS**

He should have known Potter wouldn't have let that settle the matter.

"Another day? I'm eighteen Voldemort. An _adult_. An adult just broken out of Azkaban by three people who hate him. I think I deserve to know why." Potter's tone had become cold, and Voldemort mentally raised a brow at the change in behavior. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

"I'll tell you," Voldemort said, hiding the smirk on his face. "When you tell me why you had only first heard my name a month before starting Hogwarts." The expression on Harry's face was priceless, as he gaped. Voldemort didn't bother hiding his smirk now. "Fair enough?"

"No!" Harry yelled, trying to sound like he was joking, making Voldemort again wonder exactly what was going on in Potter's head. "The information you're withholding from me actually _concerns _me. Information about my childhood doesn't concern you." Voldemort raised another eyebrow at the word childhood. There was obviously something bigger Harry was hiding than he had first thought. But Voldemort didn't press on that, especially since it seemed Harry hadn't noticed his little slip. It wasn't the right time, and Merlin knew he needed an argument with Potter right now.

"It's _my _name, after all," Voldemort told him. "By your logic, I deserve to know why you, of all people, didn't know my name for, what? Eleven years?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "It isn't the same _at all_. What I have to say is personal."

"Well all you have to do is answer my question for me to answer yours."

Voldemort was surprised when he actually hesitated. Potter seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts, looking like he was trying to figure out an impossible puzzle, which he had no doubt, was Voldemort, himself.

"I suppose so," Harry said, his voice harsh.

"Potter," Voldemort said, rounding on him. "Your attitude has been less then appropriate."

This made the young wizard fumed. "Excuse me?" He hissed. "Am a child you are babysitting? Don't order me around! I'm not asking to stay here! I'm not asking for you to be – be nice to me! It's your Deatheaters that brought me here!"

"From Azkaban!" Voldemort growled. "Would you honestly rather be _there _than here?"

"The point is that I don't want to stay!" Harry baled his fists.

"And go where? Yes, I thought so," He said, seeing the hesitant looks on the young wizard. ""Why are you in such a hurry to leave? You just got out of Azkaban, I'm amazed you're as healthy as you are, which isn't much." He eyed the raven haired wizard, paler than death, and skinner then a house elf. "You don't have anywhere to go. You don't even have a wand."

"I have a wand," Potter snarled, before a look of longing crossed his face. "It's just, inaccessible at the moment." Voldemort passed this off as denial, considering how hard it would probably be for the wizard to except the ministry destroyed his wand.

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave?" He repeated.

Potter swelled in anger. "You're only using me!" Harry blurted out, but didn't care. "Yeah, I know. You're brilliant plan is over. What next? Obliviate? Imperius curse? Avada Kedavra?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, suddenly enraged. How could he possibly think that? He didn't know a damn thing. His voice was dangerous as he whispered, "Do you honestly think that?"

"Of course I do!" Harry spat. "Why else would you being doing this? The last time I saw you, you wanted to kill me!"

Voldemort had to control his anger. He couldn't loose control of himself. He had to remind himself that it wasn't Potter's fault he didn't know yet. Not that he'd be finding out soon. "You don't know anything."

"Obviously!" Harry yelled. "So tell me, goddammit!"

"Why, what I have to say is personal," Voldemort responded in a mocking tone, shooting back the same words said to him. "But I will tell you I'm genuinely saying you _can _stay here, without the worry of being killed, or _used_," He said the last word with a snarl.

"I can't trust you," Harry said. "And you can't do anything to prove otherwise. You can't do anything to keep me to stay." He gave a challenging look to Voldemort.

Then he did something that he had never before let cross his mind let alone do, but really, who was he to refuse a challenge?

He bent down until they could both feel the warm breath of each other's breathing. He kept his eyes on Harry's, who were crinkled in confusion. He ignored it. Slowly he laid his lips against Harry's moist and warm lips. A shock rippled through his body, but he broke the kiss before either of their tongues could escape.

He stood straight. "Well, Potter," He said, as if nothing had happened. "You have a curious mind. I'm sure you'll want to stay so you can understand just why the big bad Dark Lord bent down and kissed you." He bent down next to Harry's ear, "And enjoyed it."

He left, sparing Harry from having anyone see the deep red blush that was no doubt forming at the moment. He didn't want yet another reason for Harry to avoid him. After all, he _had _changed.

Just _much_ more so than what Harry could _ever_ imagine.

* * *

**A/N**: I wanted to name the house elf Twiggle, but it didn't seem to fit the house elf of a Dark Lord. I only re-read this once, so don't be too harsh if there's a mistake. Sorry it was short, but thanks for reading!

And thank you, LoonyLovegood9909, for getting on my back to get this up.


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